A Poem by Steve Chaplin

Telemarketing Caller

I just love those cute telemarketing callers

—you know the ones . . . where the fella just hollers

to get you to buy lots of impractical stuff

when you’ve told him you already have more than enough

but he’s relentless as a dawg with it’s jaws on a bone

and you can’t get that bastard off of your phone

so you pretend that there’s somebody at your back door

but this only makes him tele-market you more

’till you give up and act like your choking to death

but he keeps up his pitch ’till you’re on your last breath

so you start making noises  —like your actually dyin’ 

but that doesn’t stop him, he just keeps on tryin’

’till your husband comes home, sayin’, “honey, I’m here”

and there you are, with a phone in your ear

and he looks at you funny, like all you’ve been doin’ all day

is sittin’ on that telephone, just chatterin’ away

so it comes to your brain —like a bolt from the blue 

and you hand him the phone—