You Are a Bad God

Hughes meant the phone,
The old, squat kind—
Black shell, black coil,
Mute on the shelf

And then the screech
Of its loud bell.
We feel for it,
Though we can’t feel.

We are like it.
We sit and wait,
We too, who serve
As ways for you

To link your minds.
We, too, stay mute,
Save as you’ve used
Us to reach you.