Good afternoon, how
may I help, what can I do
for you today, oh sir, oh madam, oh
leech of my sanity. Strangled
by the curled black cord, tightening
by the hour, squeezing
the voice from my throat.
The record begins to skip,
the doll wobbles on her rotating stand,
mouth a sing-songing, singing
techno jumble instead of pretty songs.
The mynah bird’s voice fails.
Annoyed it flies away, ignoring
the deranged bell’s ringing.