This poem came out of the August 7, 2012 Poetry Fishbowl. It was inspired by a prompt from siege and sponsored by janetmiles. It also happens to be a podcast script. The context was just so overwhelmingly audio, it spilled over into the form.
Phonebot: "Please continue to hold. Your call is very--"
C.S. Eye: "Good morning! What can I do for you today?"
Customer: "My account isn't registering my deposit,
the fuckwit accountant on the case can't find the problem,
now my bills are overdrawn because the bank can't find my money,
and this so-called 'customer service' is giving me the runaround.
In three different languages, so far today."
C.S. Eye: "I'll fix that right now.
Please punch in your account number
and the amount of your deposit."
Customer: "Is this call being recorded for quality control?"
C.S. Eye: "Great Ghu, no!
Nothing ever gets fixed that way.
We're flying completely under the radar here."
Customer: "Okay, what the hell."
[phone buttons beeping]
C.S. Eye: "All fixed!
This has been a visit from C.S. Eye,
keeping an eye on customer service
for your health and sanity. Have a nice day!"
Narrator: "At first it was just a rumor,
but the rumor grew into legend,
and the legend matured into myth:
Don't worry, little guys.
Geeks are watching over you."