As I was looking for a phone,
To make a call, the other day,
I noticed, without asking me,
They’d taken all the booths away.

How long ago had this been done
Or maybe I just failed to see,
That something else had been removed
That I felt had belonged to me?

No wall to stop a rolling coin,
If accidentally one should fall.
No place to scribble little notes
Like, maybe, “FOR A GOOD TIME CALL.”

No place for spies to make their drops,
No shelter from the winter rain.
No insulation from the noise
Of every passing truck or train.

Did no one even stop to think
Or maybe no one even knew?
With all the booths replaced by shelves,
Just what will poor old Clark Kent do?