By drowning

1.

Can you hear that?

He held the phone to the weather, I could hear

a live broadcast of Spanish rain, could only imagine

being marooned in that restaurant for two hours;

sandals, by the end of the week, falling apart.

2.

Enough. That mobile: its future.

Well, the rain passed, heat resumed.

Mad moment rowing; irrigation channels inland,

having steered round a stubborn island of rushes;

past beautiful boys getting it on,

a dip forward, somehow, meant

his phone slipped out of his shirt pocket.

Did it jump

or was it pushed?

3.

All my texts sink, little hearts palpitating,

expire in a series of weary oooooos.

Smileys, a whole folder, unused,

give up the grin, grimace, gurn,

go down. Numbers stream out of sequence

like a daft alphabet.

4.

Listen, it’s trying to ring.

It’s crying! Your voicemail refuses to click on

at first then does. We hear you overground,

on the speaker-phone, sounding how you never were

and, babe, so much more.