Ode to the Voice I Never Wanted to Hear

Oh, the joy of telemarketers, Who call you up without a care, With offers they believe are clever, But really just provoke despair. They call with grand insurance plans, Covid kits and credit schemes, As if I’m some prized target For their automated dreams. “End-of-life” expense protection — Oh, what a cheery nightly theme! I nod along sarcastically Inside my caller-haunted dreams. And then there’s Medicare, of course, A topic I now know too well, Yet still they bring fresh nonsense With each new tale they sell. They ring at noon, at dawn, at dusk, And even in the dead of night, It seems they’ve sworn a solemn vow To haunt me till I lose the fight. So here’s my ode to all of you Who call with no remorse or thought: If you don’t cease this madness soon, I’ll scream until my brain is shot. Your calls are cruel and unwanted, And frankly, they just make me sick. So do the world a service now — And kindly stop being a prick.