One day
A lady on the telephone
Was talking to a salesman
At the giant discount store
About a micro-oven toaster
Which he'd sold her which not only
Didn't work as it was s’poseter
But gave bread black burns and bruises
And had blown out several fuses
And she wanted to exchange it
When he coolly interjected-
It was past the date for refunds.
And perhaps she had neglected
To peruse the clear instructions
Or the guarantee as written:
All adjustments are directed
To the factory in Great Britain!
The woman, close to fit
Was mad enough to spit
When suddenly it hit!
She begged the snippy salesman
Would he kindly wait a second?
She dashed across the kitchen
Down the steps into the cellar
Over barrels of antiquey things
And dusty books all yeller
Wooden toys and all the musty-
There it was, a slightly rusty
Perforated gadget made of tin
Of this description:
A model for a temple, either Aztec or Egyptian.