Waiting for the Dial to Return

In the photo, the hallway is dark and thin,

and the phone is a heavy, black weight on the wall.

I saw a plastic one today in a bin

and felt the ghost of a long-distance call.

I put my finger in the zero and tried to pull

but the plastic was fused, a solid, dead block.

I remember when the cord was knotted and full

of the way we’d stand there and stare at the clock.

You had to wait for the wheel to spin back around

before you could give them the next part of the code.

It took so much time just to make a sound.

It took so much patience to share the load

of whatever we were saying. Now it’s all fast.

Nothing has weight. Nothing is built to last.