Old Devices
We’d race to get the telephone –
stating our number as rote taught –
our mother in her poshest voice
but rough for sister talk
Relative news transmissions –
but not intended to be heard –
I knew nothing of kindred facts
’til I stole truth from her words
We were ignorant between acts –
maybe flattening an irksome book –
we’d stare through the yellowed nets
whilst half-tuned to loosened talk
We tugged at the reluctant drawers
where our history was lost and found –
there tucked between old table mats –
sepia smiles were loosely bound
News bulletins marked the hours
or were shoved through the letterbox –
that narrow window on the world –
ink fears of the Eastern bloc
Ignorance was a short-lived bliss
in those disconnected times –
no algorithms on our wrists
to redress the truths and lies