Riff on Johm McCullough's Fine Personal Calls
Oh telemarketer besiege my soul
Call me now as I grow old
I no longer can stand the silence
I have relied too much on self-reliance.
So call me and sell me your unneeded product
How its return of pleasure will be erotic
That what I never knew I really needed,
Will bring rewards expectations exceeded.
I sit with pleasure phone on speaker,
Glad to hear the girl from Topeka,
So friendly, concerned about my failing health,
Selling me by cordial stealth.
Are my vitamin needs being met?
Am I juicing daily with tumeric?
Have I heard of the miracle of copper bands?
The relief it brings to wrist and hands?
I particularly enjoy the pill pitch for sex,
The Indian girl must read from a text,
I keep her talking long on the phone,
I'm so lonely living all alone.
Comments about this poem (Riff on Johm McCullough's Fine Personal Calls by David McLansky )
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