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