lost numbers

you have a drawer
in the kitchen
full of dead phones.
dropped
phones, phones that
got wet
and shorted out
in your showered
hand, wiring gone bad,
buttons stuck
on a single letter
forever, phones
with batteries that
died in the heat
of declaring love,
or saying don't ever
call me again.
and now this phone.
this fragile
mirror in your hand.
a thin line
of communication. it
too, has expired.
taking with it all
the numbers that you
never knew by heart.
and you are left to
say embarrassingly
when people call,
who is this? who
am I talking to.