Six.
"I promised my wife that I would call Dr. Song today.
After putting the baby down for her nap
and slipping outside for a smoke, I lifted the receiver.
The sound it emitted, which I have heard without pause
countless times before, seemed to me otherworldly now.
Like somebody's finger playing on the wet rim of a crystal
ball in a derelict theater before the wars.
I can't say how long I stood there listening.
The rings of Saturn kept churning in their groove.
For reasons beyond me--
my unit on Dante wasn't scheduled
until the following quarter--
I dialed 1-800-INFERNO, and before the first ring,
a woman's voice answered in heavily
accented English, "Is it you?"
"I think so," I replied.
Outside my window the honey locusts
sprinkled their pale spinning leaves.
Focusing on one as it fell seemed
to slow the collective descent.
"O creature gracious and good traversing the dusky element
to visit us who stained the world with blood,"
the woman recited as if reading against her will
from a prepared text.
I could hear a rain trickling in a gutter spout
on the other end of the line.
"Please, remove my name from your list,"
I said, and returned the receiver to its cradle."