This Is Not Really a Poem About My Phone

By Patrick Meeds

Posted on

All day long my phone has been ringing.
Like an insect rubbing its legs together
to sing. Calls coming in from area codes
I don’t recognize. No one there when I answer.
All day long it has been ringing.
Like a bird who only remembers one song.
I miss the days when it could be quieted
by gently placing it back in its cradle
instead of having to stab at it with my finger
over and over again. No one there when I answer.
It didn’t used to be like this. I used to sleep
through the night. Not now. Now I wake up
every two hours thinking I hear my mother
thumping her cane on the floor after a fall,
and when I open my eyes I never recognize
the room I’m in. After a few moments
awareness sets in and I remember that time
and distance are not the same thing
and that there are many ways to be born
and they are all painful.

– Patrick Meeds

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