Phoneless Poem by Ivan Donn Carswell

losing your mobile phone
in an orchard where trees
visibly rustle amusement
doesn’t make finding it easier

observe; if Velcro fails to
contain Nokia’s venturesome
free spirit and you’re phoneless
time condenses dismally

sane reasoning won’t restrain
spectral sphincters expressions
of disbelief; how could you be
so stupid they self-flagellate

yet you see it in mind’s eye as
lonely and as clear as millions of
leaves littering – but you hear only
the birds twitter and the wind

seven times you roamed and rang
before the ringtone activates; seven
times in seven rows then melody
of Abba’s winsome tune awakes

“Money, money, money
must be funny
in the rich man’s world”
© 26 November 2009, I. D. Carswell