Sunday was a sad day for me as I had to let a household comrade go the way of Wilson in Castaway, slowly drift out of reach into the depths of the unknown. With apologies to Poe,
The Phone
As we had been working outside mildly seeking,
she of who we will not be speaking,
placed the phone upon the hood of my car
No less and nothing more,
So while working could hear it ringing,
Gently calling somewhat singing,
Up upon my gentle car;
And oh how sweet it would to hear that ring again,
But it will ring nevermore, quoth the headset "nevermore"
All this and nothing more.
We were driving on the Merritt deeply,
while I accelerated gently steeping,
I heard a rumble on my windshield yor
Alas I shouted "What's that?" and cried,
To see a small item turning, bouncing down the turnpike's side,
Silence from my co-pilots seating,
I turned to see heart slowly beating,
Lost in agony of the phone we had before,
All this and nothing more.
We turned around and stopped and seeing,
If perhaps the phone was not yet fleeting,
Perhaps not mangled on the roadway yore,
All this and nothing more,
And so it sits there slowly turning,
Out of luck and out of reaching,
Among the dust and cigarette butt,
Its sits there calling still;
Never to ring upon the counter,
Never to call again or after,
Calling out from my chamber door,
Quoth the mangled phone, Nevermore
And so today it sits there turning,
While I Talking not, and nothing ringing
With the sounds that were before
Its life is gone of this its sure,
Of the simple life it had before,
all this and nothing more.
