A Poem For Today - Rotary

[KEN DICKINSON]



Rotary

Closer to a bell than a bird, 
that clapper ringing 
the clear name 
of its inventor: 

by turns louder 
and quieter than a clock, 
its numbered face 
was more literate, 

triplets of alphabet 
like grace notes 
above each digit. 

And when you dialed, 
each number was a shallow hole 
your finger dragged 
to the silver 
comma-boundary, 

then the sound of the hole 
traveling back 
to its proper place 
on the circle. 

You had to wait for its return. 
You had to wait. 
Even if you were angry 
and your finger flew, 

you had to await 
the round trip 
of seven holes 
before you could speak. 

The rotary was weird for lag, 
for the afterthought. 

Before the touch-tone, 
before the speed-dial, 
before the primal grip 
of the cellular, 

they built glass houses 
around telephones: 
glass houses in parking lots, 
by the roadside, 
on sidewalks. 

When you stepped in 
and closed the door, 
transparency hugged you, 
and you could almost see 

your own lips move, 
the dumb-show 
of your new secrecy. 

Why did no one think 
to conserve the peal? 

Just try once 
to sing it to yourself: 
it's gone, 

like the sound of breath 
if your body left.

by Christina Pugh

[Kurt Heyl]

Thanks Ken for this poem

about another time and another day.

Hugs

Kurt

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