Ode to the Phone Booth

Photo by Roland Smith

So the other day I was in Morton, Washington, heading into a convenience store for a bag of ice. On the sidewalk I passed a phone booth. The phone rang. Really. Of course I picked it up. "'Ello . . . "

Who was on the line? What boon did they ask of me? How was this accomplished? That's a writing prompt for you.

As for me, I turned the experience into a poem.*

Ode to the Phone Booth

Vestibules of transformation!
Impossible closets of superheroes!
Glass cathedrals of good-bye conversations,
bottomless quarter depositories,
tattered Yellow Pages!
O for the last of the phone booths,
O for immobile conversation
Alas for the days when one could
stand still, and listen.

If you're interested in seeing the transformation from notes to poem, read the earlier version of this post.