You wrote your name on the back of my card and handed it back to me.
What's this, I thought.
You're supposed to call me, my eyes said,
as my mouth mechanically cranked out
a hopeless thank you
for your stupid name
on the back of my card,
with no number and no means to ever contact you again.
Guess that's what you really wanted to achieve.
So many contacts.
So many calls.
None returned.
For the want of one, I no longer work
calling people who don't wish to be talked to
about something they don't want to know about,
for which they'd spend money they don't have
to pursuade people they don't know
to call them.
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