You’ll probably think that I’m a traveler through time
when I tell you of childhood memories of a party line.
That’s a landline of a very particular circumstance
in which nosy neighbors listened in when they had a chance.
Some may not remember when phones were wired to walls,
and you had to stand in place whenever you made your calls.
Now one can make a call from anywhere, fortunately for us,
or unfortunately as when a fellow rider has phone sex on the bus.
The first mobile phone I ever used really was quite large-
the size of two bricks side-by-side, it held eight minutes of charge.
The behemoth phone was not without advantages of sorts.
In a gunfight one could tip it up as a bullet-stopping fort.
Phones have shrunk so small; often they’re clipped on ear.
This can lead to situations in which one fills with fear.
Walking along one comes upon a lunatic in mid-rant
gesticulating wildly, shouting, or balling like an infant.
Just when one is sure, from an asylum he has run
he turns and one sees the Bluetooth glinting in the sun.
A madman he is not; you breathe a sigh of respite.
But does the phone make it right to act like a rage-blind despot?
Where will Clark Kent change, now that phone booths are passé?
There’s no better place for stripping down then a box that’s glassy.
[I know that glassy doesn’t rhyme with passé,
but I say “glassy” in a way that’s particularly class-A.]
Yes, phones are getting smaller, my clumsy digits falter.
When did I become my crabby nearsighted Uncle Walter?
Soon phones will be so small one can’t see them with eye unaided.
Is there someone on the other end of that rant who’s being upbraided?
Rather then tweezing phones around we’ll have them implanted instead.
The world will be an asylum because we’ll each be hearing voices in our head.