You walk on the street,

Aloud ring the bell,

Quickly halt the feet

And faster than hell

Hands reach for the gun…

I beg your pardon;

The damned telephone.

Now begins the fun.

Many around you

Are doing the same.

Others react too,

The world's gone insane.

A hundred hands reach

For the blessed phone…

Oh, what a millstone!…

And hundred throats screech:

"Hi! What's up? Hello!"

John talking to Jean,

Jill to a fellow

And Paul sounds real mean

Yelling at Beryl,

Who's standing alone

- With her mobile phone -

In midst of peril

Half way 'cross the road.

"Where are you?" - "I'm here!"

His eyesight zeroed

On her now quite clear,

He lifts one hand up

And yells in his phone,

In aggressive tone:

"Get here and shut up!"

© P. J. Oszmann (2003)