Life and death of a telephone booth

Life and death of a telephone booth

A little red box stood on the corner of my street

With a black receiver and buttons A and B

A large paper directory and fag ends at my feet

There was additional decoration for all to see

Within this little box folk would leave a calling card

Advertising their services and their wares

Just a number and a message that might seem hard

To understand unless you knew your apples from your pears

Each card carried a private number with a text

Joe the plumber for emergencies seemed innocent

But others might lead one to feel a little vexed

Call Dawn for fragrant flowers that are succulent

They were the Yellow Pages of the night

That led to private rooms where secrets could be hidden

I would study them to unravel the invite

Leather retailers where you must do what was bidden

Lessons on Spanish guitar no strings attached

The duality of the meaning held in the phrase

You might have to phone to see if you were matched

To discover what was offered in so many ways

Jane’s full massage left nothing to imagination or disguise

But you needed to phone to ascertain the price

Her touch upon your skin was sure to get a rise

So much would be offered and displayed if you were nice

Now the internet has removed this fascination

Secrets no longer hidden everything to be displayed

Where lies the mystery in open exhibition

That informs you of how much is to be paid

The mini-video that exhibits those wobbling breasts

Or the panties being removed in the car

A selection on offer The Question Which is best

You can see the honey now the lid is off the jar

The message and the mouse click have replaced the rotary dial

The imagery has killed off the mystery calling card

With the video camera she can advertise in style

Inviting you for action with no holds barred

Then the imagery becomes flattery that will deceive

The photoshop slimming down of the waist

And those boobs Really Do you honestly believe

Look carefully and do not act in haste

The little red box is still there on my walk

Paint peeling windows broken and no phone

The cards have gone and there’s no double talk

Yet beneath them was an honesty that’s flown

Can ageing minds still entice and walk the walk

Can we find thrills beyond the dog and bone

Hey there tell girl me really you wanna talk

Then tempt me with a message whilst I’m here at home

Copyright: David Hopcroft May 2023