Wednesday, August 29, 2012


The telephone always rings when I have a mouth full of food,
Some strange voice from some distant part of the planet
Trying to convince me I really need the product they happen to be selling,
Reminding me again just how sometimes I’ve been guilty of the same thing
Mailing letters when I was young I shouldn’t have mailed or misdialing
The wrong four digit extension to get the wrong voice on the telephone,
Trying to sell a product the person on the far end of the line doesn’t want
Or need, their mouths full of a lunch counter sandwich or cold coffee,
“No offense,” I always tell the poor fool on the other end of the line
When I manage to swallow my meal, just as I slam down the receiver,
Sometimes it takes a click for the real message to get through.

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