A flip phone
Pressed against my hip
As I sit
Close enough to be sprayed
Every now and then
With the occasional stray droplets
As close as I can get
To the roar of nature
Without going under
Like
A flip phone
Collecting rust before I picked it up
(what a relic)
So I sit
A phone in each pocket
One old
(how long was it here)
One new
(how long till I’m done with it)
(where will it go when that day comes)
(will it end up in a stream from a waterfall)
(collecting rust until someone else picks it up)
(thinks “what a relic”)
(“how long was it here”)
The waterfall doesn’t care
It continues flowing
Over sticks and phones alike