Princess PhoneThe telephone's two eyes are sobbing. Waterlogged, bloated with tones, the phone dangles spreadeagle on the receiver, a sea creature sunk in its cave, all sore suction cups and tangled ganglia. The telephone has sworn an oath to board the next boat, to choke up the oyster lobes, barnacles and soggrass it's had to swallow. Stricken with eavesdropsy, it has sutured the seashells, dunked their heads under to keep them from whispering. And you thought it was such a good listener— you didn't know anything, blabbing away, lips loose as two amphibians.  |
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