Imprecation for an Answering Machine
By Foy Valentine
Breathes there a man
With soul so dead
Who never to himself
Hath said,
Curs't be that phone
On yonder end
Whose tape machine
My time doth spend.
With monotone
And silly choices,
"Press one; press two,"
The fool thing voices.
With patience gone
And anger hot
I wish this thing
Were not begot.
But since it's here
And I can't help it
Please bear with me
While I demean it. |
"Press three; press four,"
It now is saying.
When it gets to seven,
I won't be staying.
Let those who will
Stay on the line
To hear them out
And stew and whine.
But as for me,
I've had enough.
They've missed my call
And that's just tough.
I'm hanging up
Though I'm loath to balk;
But I crave some human
With whom to talk. |
