(With props to James Baldwin)
That someone is calling for me
Is evident by the list of
Phone calls I get,
Which I leave unanswered.
My smart-ass phone
Emboldens them in red.
No one I know really wants to talk to me…
So just leave a message or send one.
These other folk, call center creatures,
Really just want me to fork over funds
Or fess up to where my son Sean is
Apparently, he owes
Someone
Somewhere
Something.
Really? You want me to rat out my own kid??
My strategy
Which is tantalizingly unproven
And likely fatally flawed,
Is that if I don’t answer
It (the call generating computer program)
Will give up
Get tired
Go on to other ripe fruit.
Three strikes and I’m out!
Some people fear that there might someday be
A global electromagnetic pulse
Manmade or celestial
Which will fry the internet,
The fire next time.
I see this purge as a potential blessing
In that we all might get liberated
From such probing pestilence.
In any event
I prefer to be un-plucked…
So if you really want me
You need to be on my contact list
My red velvet electronic rope
That discerns the wheat
-I’m SO honored that you answered-
From the chaff
“We’re not worthy…”
Or
You could try knocking at my door.
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