I miss the presence of coin operated phones
in the laundromats, the shopping centers
anywhere, far from home.
way out on the curb of the red and blue
striped gas stations, convenience stores
or in banks almost elegant, on plush carpets
in fine hotel lobbies.
in movie theatres, too
near the concession stands.
I wonder why they were taken away
seemingly in the dead of night.
who carted them off.
what miscreant gave the order.
it’s true, at times they were out of order,
missing the phone book.
yanked from its chain.
I loved hearing the chime of coins.
the feeling that push come to shove
if it got stormy
maybe I could even live there for a while
closing the hinged door firmly
till the weather cleared.
you survived year on year.
American perennial.
what went wrong?
it wasn’t even in the news.
one day at the bus stop
I noticed you were gone.
old standby.
the one I counted on
in case the bus didn’t come.
what crime did it commit
in rain or snow
steadfast.
sure, sometimes
it was jammed with centavos
through no one’s fault.
it wanted to take the call
even then. it was sentimental
if not, ornamental.
what happened to them.
all those phone booths.dime fed phones
suddenly deemed expendable…
where are you?
gracing other planets?
no one knows.
not even on the antique shows.
maybe in The Twilight Zone.
mary angela douglas 2 may 2019
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