This house has no landline. It has three mobile phones.
Face touching face, we speak as though we’re on our phones.
My ears are losing your dear voice. You have not called.
You left text, but not voice, messages on the phone.
Last year I fell in love with an email, undressed
and stoked his body, while he stoked mine, on the phone.
Last March mum called to say dad has a lung disease.
Freud likes to listen but he does not like the phone.
What tragic heights can be averted, and what depths,
if Romeo could get Juliet on the phone.
We now suffer a vague continuous anxiety.
We do not lose but are always losing the phone.
You know the question when midnight abruptly rings.
Pick it up. Don’t worry. It’s Jee on the phone.