HARKEN! ENDLESS POXES

HARKEN! ENDLESS POXES


Lewd calls from debt
collectors in the morning
sound like surly birds
in wampumdumpsters.

Aren't debt collectors just so smug
with your account innards on their screens?

Querying you on how you disburse
your sesame sums? Asking you for your
treasured sequences?

The nerve, the unfettered nerve,
of diluting my morning with such assclownery,
such premeditated, yet disjointed, ire arousal.

I would like to speak to a supervisor
and take my name off the Shitkicker Index
except when I answer, it automatically cues
to parlare with debt wraith from the Gobi

who I know full well pushes a black Navigator
with illegal tints as a statement on the illegitimacy of taste
who bluetooths through lunch hour on the deadbeat
treadmill and liquidates customer clusters during barre

My dear sirs/madams, the phone is not indeed
a fuchsia vibrator to be ribbed or unribbed
at your disposition! I have willfully engaged
in a see-saw of usury with you, this much is true.

But, this does not mean I must respect your
threshold for insubordination, or privilege
you pricks speaking ill of my icerberg.