Tuesday, 16 June 2015

The Phone




The Phone 

The phone receiver lay on the desert floor
Thrown out of the door
A forgotten relic from time past
Trashed

There was a time
When the phone would chime
To signal a call
From your favorite doll

It was the only way to talk
Without walking around the block
To the neighbours place
And meeting face to face

The phone’s time is almost done
And like the setting sun
It will fade into black
Never to make a comeback

When that day has arrived
I will feel deprived
And begin to moan
Because I do not have a cell phone

© Phil Renaud 2015
Image by Sarolta Ban