We Liked to Talk I Guess

We Liked to Talk I Guess

There was a phone
In every room
At 909 Main Street
(except the bathroom).

Upstairs,
One in each bedroom
And one in the hallway
(and we used them all).

Downstairs,
One in the kitchen
One in the dining room
(shaped like a piece of corn on the cob)
Three in the living room
And one on the front porch
(and we used them all).

One in the basement, too.

Dad installed them all through the years
we lived at 909 Main Street.
Ten years–
From age six to sixteen
(Me, not Dad).

Eleven phones for one house
(and we used them all).

I guess we just liked to talk.

My house now has one phone
(plus one cell phone).

I still like to talk
But I do it with my fingers
Tapping on this keyboard.

Times change, I suppose.

Just like I did
From six to sixteen
At 909 Main Street.

*******

Inspired by L.L. Barkat’s Random Act of Poetry prompt to use a street or street address for a poem.

This might be the first in a series, depending how inspired I feel.

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15 thoughts on “We Liked to Talk I Guess

  1. We had all the phones because your grandpa worked for the telephone company. And I don’t remember, but I bet he installed most of them. πŸ™‚

  2. eleven phones! i see your dad’s comment… so i get it. but what i wouldn’t have done for a phone in my room! not only did’t i ahve my own phone… i had a 15 minute time limit. enforced with a timer in the drawer!

  3. Thanks for a bit of fun. (We only had one phone; I grew up in the ’50s-60s. I don’t ever recall my father using the phone much but my brother, always.)

    Thank you, too, for you comment on my blog today.

  4. Pingback: Life on the Street

  5. So effective, zeroing in on this one particular item, the phones – that it stands out to you, that at some point you realized it wasn’t that way in every house. I hope you do continue on as inspired.

  6. This makes me smile soooo big. I remember those days of the big phones with the long cords (yes, I’m old). And the longer cord meant the better phone. Now it’s no cords and a phone you carry in your pocket.

    My how times do change.

    I love your poem, Erin. And I like to talk too. πŸ™‚

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