Our village has been blessed
with telephones.
More communication, they say.
Quicker, faster,
bringing people closer;
and you don’t even have to go anywhere.

Aunt Polly, who never ceases to
tell stories of her nephew
who is sailing the high seas,
has more tales to narrate.
Some of them, I’m sure,
are fabricated.
Whoever heard of a sailor,
on a ship,
and writing poetry to his aunt?

Gossip flows faster now,
But it seems tea parties
are scarce.
No one bakes much anymore.
I’ve almost never inhaled the
fragrance of freshly baked cookies
that used to waft
out of Melissa’s window
every other evening I walked home
which made me think of
her hands, soft in cookie dough.

The market is full of exchanges
about how phones
have changed conversations
forever.
Living rooms are not tidied
with freshly laundered covers.
But phones have the privilege
of being covered
with crochet pieces.
Crochet needles and wool sell a lot.
Business is booming.

Earlier, you could hear
the gong of the church
at the corner.
Loud and clear.
And then,
there would be silence.

Now, the phone rings
and there is chatter.

One evening I was walking home.
On the phone cables I saw
two blackbirds perched.
One of them was flitting,
looked like she had something to say.
The other sat still and looked on.
Two blackbirds on a telephone cable
shared a story.
As I walked home I surmised
how the phones brought us closer indeed.