Tapping, intermittently
By the workmen
With the wires
I don’t mind
No, honestly
For it becomes
A source of inspiration
Reminds me of my mum
On the phone for hours
To her best friend Margaret
Over sixty years ago
Also of my decision
Not to have a telephone
In my flat at Anchor Court
Instead I wrote letters
And today
Out in my cold, cold shed
Some of the replies are safely boxed up
