Phone Talk Poem by Jan Oskar Hansen

The phone conversation
Late in the evening, my daughter brought me an apparat
that made it possible to talk to the dead.
The first on the line was an electrician complaining
I hadn't paid him; sure, how could I pay you when
You died before I had money ready?
You could have bought flowers and visited the funeral.
You are right I could but omitted to do so
Because I had no money and it was raining that day.
You could use an umbrella. I haven't got one,
No self-respecting seaman will be seen alive with one.
Besides I was on a ship near the Azores when you died.
This man always complaining, static noise and other
Voices disturbed the talk.
I thought some people never stop moaning however
Long they have been dead.