Cellphones of the Dead Are Ringing

A smashed cellphone on a manhole cover

During the news coverage of the Orlando Pulse Nightclub massacre, one of the reporters talked about the scene in the club. Dead people, broken glass, mayhem….But when the smoke cleared there were scores of cell phones left behind.  Friends and relatives who thought their loved ones might have been in harm’s way were calling, trying to reach them.  Nobody was answering.

Cellphones of the Dead

A poem by Greg McGee

Cellphones of the dead are ringing

A chorus of desperate pleas.

Posing urgent questions

Which fall upon deaf ears.

Their owners have departed

They’ve slipped the mortal coil

Don’t leave a message at the tone

They don’t live here anymore.

They didn’t want to die here

They only came to dance

Maybe act up a little

Maybe find romance.

Victims of the crossfire

Fodder for the gun.

Targets of a hatred.

That’s hard to comprehend.

Cellphones of the Dead are ringing

Blown to smithereens

Mother and father yearn to know

Will I see her face again?

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