Dial Me a Phone

Written for:  The Daily Prompt at wordpress.com, “HandMade Tales”

Automation has made it possible to produce so many objects — from bread to shoes — without the intervention of human hands (assuming that pressing a button doesn’t count). What things do you still prefer in their traditional, handmade version?

While I do not dispute
the convenience of cell phones,
I do miss lifting
a weighty receiver,
and talking into a mouthpiece,
instead of air. The sound
each number made
as your finger dialed,
like a stretchy selection
of musical clicks. Yes,
it took longer, but oddly,
each call was not considered
an emergency. Today, there is
no place where you cannot be reached.
I miss the disconnect.


About purplepeninportland

I am a freelance poet, born and bred in Brooklyn, New York. I live with my husband, John, and two charming rescue dogs–Marion Miller and Murphy. We spent eight lovely years in Portland, OR, but are now back in New York. My goal is to create and share poetry with others who write, or simply enjoy reading poetry. I hope to touch a nerve in you, and feel your sparks as well.
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4 Responses to Dial Me a Phone

  1. vicbriggs says:

    A sweep into the past. I adore old phones, the clunkier the better. Your poem made me smile and it certainly reminded me of an old favourite.


  2. Pingback: Who Made You? | It's Mayur Remember?

  3. EMESZee4137@aol.com says:

    and the bonus that it never broke and had to be replaced


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