Telemarketeer Poem by Ian Keenan
Telemarketeer
Rating: ★4.0
They phone -
"Can I speak to Mr Keenarn? "
The accent of an Asian voice.
"I'm sorry, Mr Keenan
Is out".
I replace the phone.
What a job,
Hundreds of calls a day,
Ceaseless rebuttal,
But call they must,
For their children's sake,
And perhaps no father.
Friday, February 5, 2016
Topic(s) of this poem: poem
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5/5/2024 9:17:13 AM # 1.0.0.1119
I understand you, I am myself annoyed of such calls but as you said they call us For their children's sake, And perhaps no father. A touching poem.