The phone is again ringing,
and the odds say it is someone
who wants to extend my warranty
on the car I no longer own,
or to lower my credit card interest
though I never carry a balance,
or to help me fix my computer if I
just hand over control to them.
I won’t answer this time, almost
never do unless I know the caller
and want to speak to them,
robocalls, despised as they are
do provide a convenient excuse
not to speak to the long lost friend
who only needs a short term loan,
or the charity always wanting more.
Many want the government to act,
to ban or limit these calls, and I
agree, but be prepared to answer
when I call about the money you promised.
I suppose it is oddly fitting that
I was born in the continental U.S.
but can claim no state as home.
I was a Federal child, and that
meant nothing at all to me, a child who
left town at two after a father’s death,
a sister reclaimed by the government,
which was no State, just a Federal
enclave, and we all know how bad
things are inside the Beltway, those
trapped there are denied even the small
joy of self governing, waiting for Congress.
But I was an adoptee, stateless
in heritage from birth, so that was
a familiar condition, until the moment
my DNA took voice, and I suddenly
had two heritages, fully mine and
my mother’s cherished Mountain State to boot