Cold Call Poem by Ima Ryma

Telemarketers always call
When I'm expecting someone else.
My expectations quickly fall,
And my tolerance level melts.
Abruptly hanging up just means
My number is recycled for
The automated call back screens
To keep calling me more and more.
It used to be someone's job to
Make the calls for livlihood.
But now, computers seem to do
The dirty work to rile me good.

My phone should speak instead of ring,
'Beware it's telemarketing.'