Poetry

Phonebox

Hello can I help you this is sexline/ childine

depending on the prank caller. Now and again

there’s a voice that needs actual charity. Imminent

divorce, dulcet tones become raw, one more chance please

I bear the bad news, she tells him it’s over.

Next job – he sounds a dodgy geezer. Cigarette stained

fingertips cup whispers – I’m the deal broker. Sometimes I

get a cheery soul but always with ulterior motive. She’s

calling her mistress, trying to distance her husband from

the truth and her sexuality. You see, I’ve become a forum for

shady conversation ignored by mainstream society. Relic-like I

harbour only the deepest secrets now. People moved on,

they took them into their homes on a Samsung. But if you

want to expose, to medicate, the really gritty, downright dirty,

come and visit me. I’ll listen to your voices and tell your story.

Tamsin Connor

© 2014