The Flowerbed PhoneA Poem by David Lewis PagetThe phone had only been on a day When the cranky calls began, ‘Nobody knows we’re on,’ I said, When at first the damn thing rang. I had to run up the passageway To catch it before it stopped, Then there was just an awesome hush Like a tree before it’s lopped.
The line dropped out at the first ‘hello’ As if they would wait for me To run the length of the passageway, Expend all that energy, I’m sure they laughed as they cut me off Though of course, I couldn’t hear, ‘It’s dead again,’ I would rage and froth ‘Though it must be someone near.’
‘It better not be your stupid friend,’ I said to my wife, Diane, ‘The one that’s such a comedienne Who annoys me when she can.’ ‘It isn’t her,’ was Diane’s reply In her testy, haughty tone, ‘She wouldn’t ring when she knows I’m here, But wait till you’re home alone.’
But the phone rang every evening, At the high point of our show, Just as they named the villain, and I nodded to her to go. ‘You go,’ she’d say, ‘I’ve worked all day, And it really is your phone,’ I’d grit my teeth up the passageway And rage at it on my own.
I finally let it ring and ring And refused to pick it up, ‘I’ll teach them never to mess with me,’ As I drank a second cup, A truck arrived in the morning and It dumped a ton of twine Blocking all of the driveway while Some clown said it was mine!
‘I never ordered this blasted twine, You should have come to the door, Confirmed the order you say you had, What would I want it for?’ ‘We got the order over the phone So we rang, with no reply, Somebody said you don’t pick up You’re such an eccentric guy.’
I always answered it after that, And after the pig dung treat, Fifteen tons, and the smell had hung The length of our angry street, We tried to tell them it wasn’t us We said it must be the phone, I know that I would have picked it up If only I had been home.
We never did get a proper call, One where somebody spoke, I don’t think anyone likes me, and That phone’s a pig in a poke, I went outside and I cut the cord To the world who scorned our line, Then went inside where the blasted phone Still rang, one final time.
I picked it up and I snapped, ‘Who’s that!’ And a voice came on the line, It wasn’t a voice I knew, it spat And it gruffly asked the time, ‘You’ve cut us off from the Internet, I hope you’re feeling spry, We live in your rhododendrons, and You’ve made the fairies cry!’
David Lewis Paget © 2015 David Lewis PagetFeatured Review
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12 Reviews Added on October 6, 2015 Last Updated on October 6, 2015 Tags: passageway, rhododendrons, energy, comedienne Author
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