Just bear with me, the voice on the line said.
Your call is important to us.
I don’t know how many times I’ve heard this
Over the past few weeks:
Librarians, telcos, clinics, call centres
In India, Thailand.
A phrase without borders
I have always done as requested.
I have borne much.
There should be a medal awarded:
The Order of Infinite Patience
Whose recipients would be many.
I can imagine St. Peter
Perusing the names of the recently dead
And, on coming to mine, say,
Just bear with me. I’ll be with you in a moment
Before checking my details
& letting me through.
I want to photograph the galahs
clowning on the bare limbs
of the Norfolk pines
but the buggers won’t keep still
racing around like particles
inside a Hadron Collider.
Just as you line up a couple
They’d be elsewhere.
All I needed was a panoramic shot
But then they’d be off
Across the river, raucous as a footy crowd..
Better off snapping flowers,
It was World Turtle Day last week.
I was a little slow off the mark
But I’m onto it now penning these lines.
I’d write a little more; trouble is
things are whizzing by , my head is spinning.
I’ve got to slow down, take a pit stop,
Pace myself a little. Whew!
I should be done by next World Turtle Day
But I wouldn’t want to stick my neck out.
I don’t know what Pachelbel would make of it but
When I’m put on hold for a wine club query,
His canon plays. Actually I’m a member of a number
Of wine clubs which may say more about me
Than Pachelbel whose canon plays as on-hold music
For each of them.
I would have thought Chumbawamba’s ‘Tubthumping’
would have been more appropriate, if less soothing,
or Roger Miller’s Chug-A-Lug or, for a bit of class,
Mario Lanza’s Drink, Drink, Drink but Pachelbel it is.
I don’t know If Pachelbel was fond of a glass
or two in the evenings
Or when he was composing his hypnotic canon.
He may have been a member of a wine club himself
In which case —excuse the pun — he would be tickled
Pink, especially if a Rose man.
when you are put on hold, are you annoyed or pleased by the music that is played?
have you ever discovered a song though being put on hold?
I came across a woman who kept tripping over her shadow.
If only it didn’t stand so close, she said, tripping over the shadow’s right foot.
She lifted herself from the ground and before she could hit full stride, the shadow tripped over her.
Fuck! It yelled. She keeps getting in the way.
It lay on the ground, grunting. I think I’ve twisted my ankle.
Here, let me help, I offered. The shadow was tall and spindly and so was relatively easy to pick up.
The sun went behind a cloud and briefly the two became one.
Then it came out again, and the pair went on their slapstick way, tripping and falling.
How they made it home was anyone’s guess.
I have just written a poem.
I read it to my granddaughter.
“Hey! Great last line,” she says.
“But what about the rest of the poem?” I say.
“Great last line”
I go back to the poem.
Read it a few times.
It is a great last line.
So what I do is this: I jettison the rest of the poem and keep
the last line,
I read it a few times.
I read it to her.
I read it again.
It seems to lack something,” she says.
So I put the poem back together like it was and read it to her.
“Great last line,” she says.
You got to feel sorry for single white rolls.
Even in packs they can’t make a go of it.
Maybe they should take a good hard look
consult relationship experts like couples
on Married …
or search for roll-mates on Tinder.
There must be someone out there.
If ‘Baked Fresh’ doesn’t confer any advantages
I don’t know what does.
Even when consumed they die alone.
It must be a lonely existence.