Tony Grist (poliphilo) wrote,
Tony Grist

Another Cell Phone Poem

This is a companion piece to the poem I posted yesterday. It's a love poem and it's about mobile (cell) phones which back in AD 2000 (strange as it may now seem) were still something of a novelty.

                                    HUGHES UNFRIENDLY


                                    The last time I was up in the hills-

                                    An Autumn day with the rain advancing

                                    From Manchester- I rang you up

                                    On the mobile, told you how blue my view

                                    Of Yorkshire was.


                                                            This technology

                                    Is Ted Hughes-unfriendly. The wilderness

                                    Is optional; I can switch it off

                                    And chat with a person who's sat at home

                                    In an armchair. We're at the point of change

                                    To a way of living that won't see strange

                                    In a few more years. Already they're calling

                                    The Blair Witch Project implausible,

                                    Not because of the ghost but because

                                    "They'd have taken their cell-phones, wouldn't they?"


                                    In the future then people just won't get lost

                                    In the hills or the woods or even the desert.

                                    Wherever they are there'll be friendly voices

                                    A tittup away.


                                                            I remember a morning

                                    The hills really got to  me.  Wraiths of fog

                                    Went slithering past and the copse ahead

                                    Looked good for an ambush. Well, that won't happen

                                    Again, because if my nerve were going 

                                    I 'd give you a call and reduce the space

                                    Between us, including that horrible copse,

                                    To a large scale ordnance survey map,

                                    Spread out on the table with us above it,

                                    Holding  it smooth with our finger tips.


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