it rings and rings, that 
sound now fabricated for
flat screened rectangles in 
jean pockets, or purses

back then you had to jump 
off the bunk bed, sprint 
down the hallway hoping
whoever was calling would be

desperate enough to let it ring
8 times, 12 times, so important
that someone, anyone answer
because it could be a girlfriend

or boyfriend, or heaven forbid
a parent calling about a pet
dog who was put to sleep
then tears in front of all 
the other dormers in Foss Hall

and to think this happened
maybe twice a day, the phone rang
twice a day, or maybe three times