| The Song of the Switchboard |
| Day by day the switchboard greets me; |
| Rows of buttons, flashing lights. |
| I've a smile that never falters |
| And a chair that ladders tights. |
| Here's the daily dirty phone-call. |
| Who's that panting in my ear? |
| Well I never! How intriguing. |
| And I thought that he was queer. |
| Punch the buttons, dial a number, |
| Give a line to God-knows-who. |
| Do a sort of sitting rhumba -- |
| Lord, I must go to the loo! |
| Smiling at a total stranger, |
| Smells as if he's drunk a vat. |
| Just to think that there's a danger |
| I could finish up like that. |
| Grab a lightning cup of coffee, |
| Pause to take a breath and then -- |
| "Hold the line, I have a caller." |
| Brother, here we go again. |
| Standing in the very middle |
| Of other people's public rows. |
| Visitors who stand and fiddle, |
| Leaning, staring down my blouse. |
| Being nice to boring people, |
| Faces that I itch to slap. |
| Yes sir. No sir. Three bags full sir. |
| All that awful sort of crap. |
| Is my bottom slowly spreading, |
| Sitting daily at the phone? |
| Reckon that I should be shedding |
| At the very least, a stone. |
| Dialling, smiling, act beguiling |
| To the different folk I meet. |
| Fending off a passing salesman |
| Who wants to offer me "a treat". |
| Every day, the same old story. |
| Curses rained upon my name. |
| It's the rich what gets the glory -- |
| The call-girl only gets -- the blame! |
| © Leonard Morley 2009 |