nickels and dimes for a phone booth

there

was a number to call

for the weather,

for the time,

for information,

there was an operator,

a real

person

that you talked to.

there were phone booths

where you

stood, cold,

but

safe from the pelting rain.

you called across country

to a loved one

after squinting at the limp

pages of a phone book

that hung

on a chain.

you had pockets

full change,

stacking the coins in

neat piles,

ammo

for the next ten minutes.

conversations were

measured

in nickels

and dimes.

cupped with

your shoulder you held

the heavy black

phone against

your warming ear.

you talked 

on the long black vines

that connected

everyone

until the money ran out,

but it was fine.