Imagine all the calls heard in a telephone box.
Many more, of course, than before mobile phones.
Imagine if those glass panelled walls had ears,
And them listening to erotic calls and raised tones.

An acrimonious call from a couple splitting up.
An irate conversation between a man and his son.
The frustrating end of call because the pips ran out.
A hoax call to a syndicate saying the lottery was won.

An angry exchange as the phone is smashed down.
An ear-piercing scream as the door is slammed shut.
A call to a scantily clad lady who’s card is on the wall.
Listening to someone else condemning all that smut.

The search for a number in the telephone directory,
But it happens to be on a page that’s been ripped out.
There’s a breathless call to the ambulance service.
They’re so very slow and the caller starts to shout.

A reverse the charges call from a teenager to his mum.
Pressing Button B but not getting you money back.
A wrong number call to Australia at three in the morning.
And the Australian threatening to give the caller a crack.

A call to the doctors with an account of the ailment.
Ringing a taxi but not knowing where the hell you are.
The taxi firm refusing to send one to you,
Because it turns out you are not going very far.

The sound of a search in pockets for more two pence pieces.
Someone chatting aimlessly while a queue forms outside.
A tearful call and someone saying they shouldn’t have done it.
Finally a call to AA from a person who’s obviously pie-eyed.