yet another poem

sorry for not putting them together-i read this one only later. it is by the same author, and this is rather unusual. all, please comment-i would like to have my opinions backed up!


It has no name, just a number.
It is always working, spring to summer.
It knows nothing but one word,
Yet it is always listened to-isn't that absurd?

It has nothing to do but sit on a table all day,
Unless it is spoken to it has nothing to say.
It is constantly being picked up and put down,
It is totally rigid, alas! it cannot even frown.

It hears what one says, hears what the other replies
But it cannot respond, mentally it just sits back and sighs.
It if forced to listen to things it may not want to hear,
From 'I'll kill you' to 'I love you, dear'.

It is forced to endure such a terrible smell,
Beer or cigarettes? It cannot even tell.
It is often slammed down, for not fault of its own.
The faces of its users to it will remain forever unknown.

You dumb little thing, you can't even express yourself.
You ugly little thing, stop working and I'll throw you off the shelf.
You pathetic slave, helpless little thing
Forced to sit still all day and go ring, ring, ring.