It is taking the evidence of an age for this event,
not that it’s a portent of calamity, not yet though
there is always room for immunity to fail - we’ve
been patient, reasonably circumspect even, yet
within the indecency of a no-reception zone: an
advent of promised revelation seems hollow, or
echoes empty epithets hitherto less enchanting
than charismatic erudition th’ gay twenties lent
They say gratuitously, you are not on the same
wave length; pardon me, unlikely as it appears,
I am less the apostate missing innuendos your
Generation clings to - I see through sham as it
is the word we invented way back when, or am
I stealing your thunder, you poseurs. So, when
You port my old number to my new cellphone,
purchased because you enjoined me in throes
of slim-SIM modernisation, don’t anticipate the
gratified thank-you’s; - agonising as it appears,
to wait 5 days was your worst case scenario -
why then will I have to wait for at least fifteen?
© 28 July 2016, I. D. Carswell
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