When I was a kid, our telephone
was in the coat closet. Shiny as
night was black. Rotary dial.
Very Humphrey Bogart.
Even with the closet door closed,
you could hear its urgency. That
shrill ring. Didn’t sound like birds
chirping or a motorcycle engine.
And no one ever rang to just say,
Hey. How’s it going, babe.
What about this weather, eh?
Your heart jumped into your throat
when the phone rang. Hairs on end.
Who’s died was your first thought.
Suddenly, death. Or a car crash.
Dad always said that a phone call
was money, and we didn’t have
much of it back then, so hang up.
No one every called to just say,
for Miz Quickly’s Forgotten Places/Objects Photo by Quino Al on Unsplash. Shared with #APoemADay on Twitter ©Misky 2021
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