LONG-LONG-SHORT-LONG

Our farmhouse telephone looked like a creature
born of wood and wire.
Square-headed, it was fitted out with bulging silver eyes,
a long black beak connected to a flaring mouth,
a pair of mismatched ears –
cylindrical receiver dangling down the left side,
short metal crank protruding from the right.

It shrilled all day from its position on the kitchen wall,
a different ring for every family on the party line
and there were twelve of them.
We knew them all.

LONG-LONG-SHORT-LONG –
that brought four daughters running hopefully.
The calls were usually for Mama,
who fluffed her hair out with a nervous hand,
tucked in her blouse and smiled
as if her friends could spy right through the snout.

- Sara DeLuca