The answering machine:
Summer feels cold, now that you’re gone. And every time I pick up the phone, I don’t know what to say, even though I know you won’t answer. That you can’t answer. I used to hate the sound of your voice, and now it’s all I wanna hear. I dial your number, wanting to know you’re okay. Three beeps. no voice. No heartbeat. Just three little beeps. And all I get is the answering machine. Your answering machine.
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Author:
Georgia Watson (
Offline) - Published: June 21st, 2025 07:59
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 29
- Users favorite of this poem: Poetic Licence, Cheeky Missy, Tristan Robert Lange
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Comments4
Many of us have felt the frustration of getting an answering machine and even worse when one worries about does not pick up. Well written
Thank you 🙂
Answering machines are annoying at the best of times but this has a much deeper meaning, a sense of longing to hear a voice that is longer possible to hear, nicely expressed and written
Thank you 🙂
You are very welcome
Wonderful write, Georgia! Very relatable! And I see a great metaphor in this! Excellent job! 🌹👏
Thank you
You are most weclome!
Poignant and beautiful
Thank you
you are most welcome
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