Phone

 

Iso-mandala No. 273 (2021)

[Phone]

 

Lost my phone means

a day without my phone

no news to speak of

 

made to gaze at flowers

for hours now

I cannot take their pictures

 

left wondering what to do

true due to absence

of my concentration app

 

missing my friend the podcast

their confident voice

in any gender and mood

 

and almost didn’t get out

of the carpark alive

missing you satnav you jezebel

 

someone is trying to reach me

I’m trying to reach them

I could revert to postcards

 

maybe I left it in the cinema

or that supermarket shelf

I will have to cancel next week

 

perhaps my lifeline

is safe inside an inside coat pocket

hanging in the wardrobe

 

time is buried in there

and all my contacts

their names dancing on a pinhead

 

please phone me now

and we can celebrate the find

unless it’s on silent mode

 

let me this once

give you a picture with no pictures

a zen ringtone

 

I guess I’ll watch the weather

in the absence of a forecast

and make up my own in real time

Phone

 

Schoolboy with schoolbag in one hand, phone in the other at all times. Young woman at the top window of the library, tapping notes into her phone methodically. Businessman at the lounge window for brunch, reading climate news on his latest smart phone. Grey-haired writer with his phone at the ready, composing in Notes a phone cityscape. A middle-aged woman at an intersection, typing with both thumbs at once into her phone, messages home. A young independent man checks for the tenth time today on his phone, not looking up, the weather. A family sits at a café table having ordered a meal, each engrossed in the contents of their own phone. A woman of indeterminate age stands in the porch of an unopened shop, talking something personal into her phone, away from pedestrian traffic. Relatively young man scours the data on his phone for an old contact who could save his life. Woman with earplug sits in public place balancing her phone, waiting for the next call in the drama. Women and men seated in a carriage, each reading a phone as the driver crosses a convenient freeway bridge. Driver with steering wheel in one hand, phone in the other, illegally checks in. Well-preserved woman at the back window of the bus, uncontrollably scrolling her phone, abstractly. Unreserved man in a hurry inextricably tied for life with his phone, his handcuff wherever, in this case the waiting room of ‘doom’. Another nomophobe clocks hours at a time on his swiss army phone, kept in a top pocket outside charging hour. Wild-haired student curled in an armchair with his phone, contacting everyone in turn via voice, text, image, dot dot dot whatever comes to mind square brackets Send. A well-presented woman at a signboard photographing information on her phone, with a fingernail, for later zoom-up reference. A young emotional man phubs on his phone, not looking up, present company excepted, for excepted read: excluded. An ostentatious woman with irritating ringtones answers her lifeline phone every five minutes in a crowded train. Teenager eyeballs the phone, the phone of fabulous pop sockets, the phone of endless cascades, the world at his fingertips. A reflective woman stares gently at her phone, a container of everything she is not, breathe in breathe out. A shirt-hanging-out man argues unwittingly into his phone, witnessed by untalking passers-by. Relatively old man reaches into the depths of his satchel too late, as his phone of indeterminant age once more goes ping. An old contact accidentally pocket-calls the phone of an old contact. Woman with brocade phone texts floral messages to her nearest and dearest rose emoji sunflower emoji carnation emoji. Women photograph men and men women on their phone across the universe of the daylight metropolis, press Send.

Phone (March)

When No. 96’s shoe rang he excused himself to take the call. Only a spy had a shoe phone. Now any part of our clothing or anatomy rings and no-one asks to be excused. Max went incognito with his conspicuous footwear. Now everyone is inconspicuous, even as their pocket wolf-whistles or handbag blasts bars of Beethoven Turkish March ringtone. When we need to take a photograph we ask for a phone. Agent 99 was long-suffering. She was never introduced by her first name. What was it? Cameras were cumbersome undercover. Only in the final series did Smart get the picture.