The old phone booth stands—a rusty tool,
How it once did reduce the distance.
Now broken, ‘tho once the communication rule,
By which I could share existence.
Other users forced a busy tone.
I’d try later to get through,
‘Tho this was proof I’m not alone,
And, each user can get his (her) due.
Once was the pony express with relay horse,
Delivered the message in a mere ten days,
St. Joseph to Sacramento was the course,
Omitting diversions and delays.
Comes the wire and telegraph,
A message via electrical connection,
Dots and dashes without a gaffe,
Seemed like talking with perfection.
Alexander Graham Bell gave us the phone,
A message within the joy of a ring,
Or, open line with inviting tone,
How we humans loved this social thing.
The modern phone has a message ring,
A composition brief but true,
Again, we love this social thing,
Binding us together with a wordy glue.
Francis Conlon is a retired and recovering teacher. For the past 20 years, he has worked as a seasonal river ranger and boat inspector at Yampa River State Park in northwest Colorado. He has published in the local Valley Voice and in Westward Quarterly. He currently lives in Salt Lake City, Utah.