Ode to the Operator

(Decided to go back and revise this again)

The operator was buried.
She lost her job, and slowly
her cheeks began to hang
like sound waves, and ultimately

The operator was buried.

With her went
the lattice edged ring,
the ear against heavy black,
the fisted grip and slight weight.

There is no longer pleasure in waiting,
no "expected" call, no magic
in the science of wires, only

Why aren't you answering your phone?

I'm calling because I'm on the bus,
cell phone in hand,
with nothing to say.