The Real Phones
I stare at this flat rectangular phone pretender.
It is nothing like the pink princess phone my cousin had.
In her room, by the way, which was unheard of in 1964.
There are six missed calls.
I glance through them.
No. No. No. Maybe. Absolutely not. No.
Maybe tomorrow, I think.
My husband says “Ann called,” and I glare at him.
There is no privacy these days.
Everyone knows your business.
Sending around selfies on social media.
Taking photos of cops killing people by standing on their necks.
Crazy business, the I-phone.
Spying on the masses,
listening in on conversations.
No wait. Maybe that’s the echo dot.
Got carried away for a second.
Give me the old phones with the stretch cords.
When you had to go around the corner for privacy
Stretching the cord almost out of the wall.
Those were the phones you could fall in love with.
They had substance.
Excuse me! This is a PRIVATE conversation!
PLEASE get off the phone Mrs. Rutherford.
And party lines too. Remember those?
GRRRRR
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