for we’ve changed in ways that can’t be undone

i wish i could remember your voice

the way it sounded over the old box-

type telephone with its revolving dial locked

that was my first brush

with restrictions. when we couldn’t make

any calls and had to wait

for people we loved to think of us

then

after waiting all morning with bated breath

i’d be whispering for the sake of my

innocent two-bit privacy - any that can be had

at a common telephone. choking

on tears, hoping you wouldn’t notice

i’d say the line’s bad

i wish those moments i could steal

from those days now long gone

or that i had one now

an old box-type telephone

to transform your voice

bring back that sound that feel

like paint flaking off rusty steel

the yellow and beige highlighted

with a hint of diffused green

and in the shadows instead of black

just a blue deep

or a purple strained

i wish i could feel

that unadulterated love once again

or how secure you made me feel

if only i had an old box-type telephone now

maybe we could go back to the times now dead

when i still listened to all you said

when our worlds still overlapped

and we could still talk

even if the line was bad

yes, i wish i could remember you voice

the way it sounded then

but come, these are an old man’s ramblings

for when have telephones ever repaired men?