Best Phoning Poems

There are no more telephone booths,
not the old type - the glass coffins.

The Atalanta hub is rocking,
planes and people buzzing in and out
of an anthill nexus
of distracted minds.

Calling London,
a city
that has red telephone boxes,
concrete-set booths
that all ring at once.
Wrong numbers are seeking answers.
There is a...

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