FUN WITH EMILY DICKINSON

FUN WITH EMILY DICKINSON (or) ON HOLD AT THE CITIMORTGAGE BANK HELPLINE * Monday, May 11, 2009 at 9:00 AM, CST * Dear fellow poets, I wrote the second poem while waiting on hold, in order that I might speak with a real person. * After several rings And no connection A programmed voice Lets me know I will be waiting * Loan Modification Frightening process Dial 1 for Indian Dial 2 for Skri Lanka Dial 3 for Spanish That can't even Speak Spanglish * Refinance New Home Or Mtg. Assistance Is it Customer Service Or Customer Resistance? * Just call this number They'll be glad to Help you out Once you call that one It's another Prompt, prompt, prompt Then music music music and much to my horror…. sat through "Muskrat love" at least five times more! along with various other Recorded messages Didn't I just hear this one in that last batch of prompts? Or was that the first one that I got transferred from? * Somehow in being transferred from one point to another I've been disconnected At least 5 times brother, Can I speak to your manager? What? You can't give out his number? Then can I just talk with a real live person? * "You must be late on your payments To even apply Before you attempt to modify But if you're behind On even one payment Unfortunately then you don't qualify." * If you don't make Your payments or If you start to be late We'll foreclose on you We won't hesitate! You have to have a job It'll be a cold day in hell If you expect to meet our income levels!" * How dare you address me rudely. You've really got the nerve! If it wasn't for the bailout You wouldn't have this job! * Click click - dead silence They achieved their goal They got me so discouraged I won't call anymore * Monday, May 11, 2009 at 11:37 AM, CST * WordPlaya, May 2009 ******************************* BECAUSE I COULD NOT STOP DIALING (dedicated to Emily Dickinson) * Because I could not stop dialing, a real person never found me; The phone just kept on transferring Till it took on it's own immortality. They slowly transferred, they knew no haste, I had put away all my leisurely ways. For this activity which lacked civility, we passed on formal salutations due. Their words were scarcely audible as they tried like hell to patronize you We passed on prompts of jumbled jargons, from voices we could not understand We paused before a music interlude and rousing renditions of Muskrat Love; The house was scarcely modifiable, because we were not qualifiable. Since then 'tis centuries; but each transfer feels shorter than the day befores Tis then is when I finally surmised that meeting my needs was not to be. By the time they finally took our call We'd be heading towards our eternity. * WordPlaya, May 2009