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.
