Wintertime, in rural snow, teenagers filled the car
From door to door and front to back.
Loud joyous sounds took up the space
Not otherwise quite occupied.
Their basketball had ruled the court,
The victory was more than sweet.
It was too soon to end the night.
Choc'late mugs, awaiting them, they took the time to stop.
Thoughtful son, one Alan, asked if he might use the phone.
His mom, he knew, would worry so,
With hour late, would he be safe?
To ease her mind, he'd let her know...
But, this was in a different time.
No rotary, no touch-tone phone,
An operator would respond,
Not unlike the TV kind (of Olson's Mercantile).
"Number, please," familiar voice, the woman on the line
Soon made connection; Mother heard
Her darling son was safely back.
She'd sleep, but leave the porch light on.
Meanwhile the other woman fumed,
She'd let that little ingrate know
How aggravated she'd become.
Without grace, she plugged the link, and called the young man back.
"How could you, while just a block away from home, yourself,
Why did you need to bother me?
Would it have been too difficult
For you to think of someone else?
You could have run home on your own!"
The young man knew not what to say,
But when he told his friends the charge,
Too late smart, they realized they'd called her out of bed!
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