Often times we are moved to action only after it is too late…
Each week The Sunday Whirl invites writers to write a poem or short prose using some or all of the “Wordle’s” 12 words. This week it is:
Swearing at the Wind
Flushed, and grimy, she swears
at the wind, threatens
to make the call,
not waiting to press one,
she checks her list
for the direct line,
knowing still there is no one left,
every share holder’s vote tendered,
and the result the same:
Life’s nexus has been moved offshore.
I do feel that we are heading that way. Sadly no-one really cares.
I care. Call me and leave your voice message after dialing 7.
when there is no one left to call it is a lonely place..and perhaps we are angry with ourselves..and yet globally or in our houses i hope there is always someone at the end of the line…
please press 9 for more options, 0 for the operator, or the # sign to disconnect, otherwise you will hear this message again.
the subtlety intrigues me…..
I’ve never been accused of that, even subtly.