My dear old, ancient, cranberry phone.
Broken in a few places.
Well, maybe quite a few, I guess.
Frequently turning yourself off.
Just to save your battery, perhaps.
Or maybe just resting, taking a nap,
Like old things are prone to do.
I forgot and left you in the car.
Now don’t go ringing your head off while I’m gone.
And don’t go collecting all those messages, either.
You’re not an iPhone, or one of those fancy others.
You do just what you were intended to do.
Send my messages, and let me call whoever I want to.
You and I have been together a long time.
You’re easy to use and at my beck and call,
Except when you drift off.
…Where do you go, by the way?
You function fairly well for a Senior.
You’re just as good as most.
A good percentage of time, I can depend upon you.
Oh, What will I do when you give up the ghost?