the long distance call

I remember the long distance
phone call,

standing in a phone booth with a
pocket full of change.

the operator listening in,
telling you when it's time to
feed
the slot,

to gain more minutes to talk.
it was usually raining,

or snowing, or the wind was
blowing so hard through the creases
of the glass
booth

that you could hardly hear
the person on the other end.

they'd get half of what you
were saying,
and you'd get the same
from them.

you'd stamp your feet on
the slab floor trying to stay
warm,

dropping coins everywhere,
bending over to find them in
the flickering light.

it was strangely romantic though.
the gallant effort made

to talk to someone you loved
and to tell
her all the things

you needed to say, and then
to hear
her say the same

on that thin wire that somehow
connected two souls
together

in the pouring rain.