There was a time

before time,

somewhere around the end

of the decade of lost hope

that was known  as the 1980s

in which being given a phone number

by the girl

you liked

was as prized as any medal

or award handed out by the state

or the unsaid respect of your mum and dad.

That number was hard won,

it was the mark of envy

perhaps in  other’s eyes and the sudden realisation

that what came next was love’s equivalent

to standing in a closed forbidding

courtyard, having a white handkerchief

pinned with malice to your uniform

and looking at the girl’s father ten paces away

and shouldering the parental responsibility

and with a small muted cry of a badger at midnight,

telling him to take as many shots as he wants.

Now it seems

in the century that decency and charm forgot

that the number is handed out with ease

and there is none of this holding your

breath

when you dial, knowing full well that thanks to the

phone becoming mobile,

you only ever have to meet

her parents on the day you marry and then perhaps

not even then.

How much more like knights we were in the days

when the courage of getting a girl’s number

was just the first step on the road to oblivion

and in which the knowledge of a sip of Dutch courage

before asking for a number was tantamount to

committing oneself to the many myriad of

questions and silent responses down the phone

stationed by the armchair of the father

just so he could look down upon you

in comfort.

The only thing worse than the thought of

“Yes Mr Bla…, yes sir I mean,

well what I mean to say to sir

is that I wondered if your

daughter was home…yes Mr. Bla…

your only daughter, your special daughter,

the apple of your eye, yes Mr. Bla…

I know Saturday is a night for spending time

at the desk and studying but…

yes Mr. Bla…sir, may I please speak to Cather…

oh she’s out, O.K. may I leave a mess…”

phone goes dead…,

was that somehow

thanks to the way teenagers thought a joke was cool

you realise you have rang a wrong number

as she explains it away

the next day in the school cafeteria

in front of her friends

that she didn’t like

you after all.

Ian D. Hall 2015