The Old Rotary Dial

Bakelite plastic from the 50s
And grime just as old and hard to penetrate
Made this phone a solid
Testimonial to an age when things
Where made to last
Instead of a dial tone
I half expected an operator to speak
When I held the receiver to my ear
It was hard to keep track of the numbers
As I spun the old rotary dial
My fingers so used to punching ten key pads
Instead of a friend or a trusty bail bondsman
I ended up talking to an elderly woman
Watching late night television
She was sick of all the political calls
Intruding on her peaceful home
In the old days salesmen went door to door
There was one brush salesman in particular
That she remembered fondly
I’m sure there was a story there
If I could have gotten her to confide in me
But I had caused enough trouble for one night
She asked me why I had called
All I could tell her was, “Wrong Number”

I asked the officer if I could try again
“One phone call only,” he said
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Credits: Poetry and Collage by Jay Larsen