Inside an empty room, an old style
telephone, complete with rotary
dialer and tones unheard today,
idly sits on a small stand often
reserved for personal belongings:
Sunglasses, keys, mailed advertisements.
Idle until the ringing sound begins.
One long sound after another, that same
sound again and again, staining the
absurd white of the surrounding walls.

Ah, tonight! It could have been the night,
if only...Somehow there is always an
"If only," a "Could have been." Tonight,
if only someone was here, inside,
to put a stop to the monotony
of the tireless mailings and the
uncompromising ringing noises.
These old telephones they used to ring
but the junk mail still collects, all on
idle stands surrounded by walls of
different whites, none the same as any other.