How the voice carries

“It’s a boy,” the father says to his teenage daughter.
The voice, cocooned in the black plastic phone receiver,
Is passed over.

“It’s a boy,” the midwife says to the new mother,
The voice, cocooned in softest blue  merino,
Is passed over.

“He’s such a love,” the grandmother whispers to her son.
The new breath, cocooned  in the white plastic monitor
Is passed over.

“What, love?” asks a voice, a tea lady, maybe.
The old woman, cocooned in stiff hospital pillows
Is passed over.

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