Evariste Galois Poems

Incomunicado Morning

The phone rings;
It's Evariste Galois.
The phone rings;
It's Budapest on ice.
The phone rings;
It's my grandmother,
long dead.
The phone rings.
I refuse to answer.
What's if it's the Grim Reaper?
It keeps ringing.
Maybe it's Publisher's Clearinghouse
Informing me that I won
	the sweepstakes.
I don't care.
I just don't care
Most likely
It's telemarketing,
And I'm in no mood
For that on any other scam
On this
Steep-pitched Monday.