The Phone Call Poem by Angela Wybrow

The eleven digit number, I very carefully dial,
Hoping that my query, will only take a while.
I am greeted by a cheery, automated voice:
To sit and listen, I don’t have much choice.

The speaker, I admit, sounds very polite,
But, I don’t require details of their website.
I really just wanted to find something out,
And, avoid all this, unnecessary, faffing about.

I’m given a list of options: one through to four.
Having chosen option ‘one’, I’m given six more.
The options, once again, to me, are explained.
Already, I’m starting to find this all, a real pain.

This time, I decide to go for option number two,
But, to a human adviser, I still can’t be put through.
Having dialled two, another list of options, I endure,
But this time, I will admit, there is one option fewer.

The final option on the list, is number five:
At last, I can talk to someone, who is alive!
But, by an automated voice, I am, then, told,
That, they are currently busy, so ‘please hold.’

By cheerful, piped music, I am initially greeted;
Once finished, it is, then, immediately repeated.
To the repeated musical strains, I sit and listen,
Still feeling very intent, on fulfilling my mission.

This is taking way much longer, than I first thought,
And, by now, my nerves are, ever so slightly, fraught.
The receiver, at the other end, is picked up, at long last.
Checking my watch, I see, ten minutes have now passed.

Of the answer to my question, the adviser isn’t too sure,
So I’m put back on ‘hold’, to the same music as before.
This is going to take ages, I’m now beginning to realise.
I’m quite impatient by now, and, annoyed, I roll my eyes.

The adviser apologises, and he thanks me for waiting.
This whole scenario, for me, is getting rather grating.
At last, my query is answered by someone,
And, twenty minutes later, I’m finally done.