Poetry (Day 207): Operator



When I was a boy
we had one of those phones
where you turn the handle
to ring the bell.
The operator would answer
and ask who you wanted to call.

Now, my children
can talk to their grandparents
by videophone,
and show them pictures,
and blow them kisses,
from the other side
of the country.

Miracles happen
before our eyes.

And in ten years time
my daughter will
still be judged
more on what she wears
than what she can achieve.
Her opinion will be worth less
than that of the man
by her side.

And somewhere,
on the other end of the line,
the operator forgot
to disconnect our call
and we are stuck
talking to the past.


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