Ring

ON RECEIVING A CELL PHONE

Nothing I’d ever wanted, the phone

and its digital leash, orbital tether.

Refused and refused again, even

after the hours into night

spent in a dead elevator,

in its grimy light, canned air, sepsis

weather. I’d return

eventually. I’d shower

and shave and lob

mild volleys of complaint

skyward. Fake gods, get ready to tremble.

Or not. This was all

the consolation

I needed or wanted

for lost time. I’d waste more

and more again

beside the river

and beneath trees lolling

in summer’s long

attention. I was happy to be

moderately remote,

checking email

on the hour,

pleasure taken in the distant word of friends,

nattering about

carnations and wounds

and cartoons

and God knows what else. But,

love, if ever I’m lost

the satellites

to a map will pin me

and someone

with a shovel

will come and ruin his back for my life.

And back I’ll go

waiting for dusk

to come down like an avalanche

and for you to call,

to call me by name, to find me once more.