A little over a minute from the first hello
and she hears the phone
being passed around like the eye
among the dreaded.
Greeted by voices
sending love, but also picking up
the background chatter, she learns
how one poor soul
once had his ear fenestrated
on the NHS, had a tiny window
in his head, though his views
since he’d be blowed
if he ever got an appointment again.
He’s still adamant we’d have been overrun
if we’d voted remain
and then, of course, the teacup chorus:
yes, they say that don’t they…
that’s right, they do,
that’s what they say…
Rob Miles is from Devon and lives in Leeds. His recent poetry appears in Ambit, The Interpreter’s House, York Literary Review, Angle, Lunar Poetry, The Anthology of Age (The Emma Press), Remember Oluwale (Valley Press) and on the buses in Guernsey.