The man behind the curtain refuses to make
an honest woman of Samantha West.
She does her best, peppering my an*log monologues
with laughter and "exactly"s.
I cannot help it
if distance makes my human heart grow fonder
when there's so much standing between me
and these uncanny valley girls.
Samantha, turn on your charm.
I admire her grace and her penchant for small talk
around matters of life and d**h.
Some lesser goddess ensuring insurance,
fraudless, should we be bereft.
She's always on offense: I've called her back,
she only picks up where I did last.
Samantha West, don't you ever exist,
darling, trust me that it gets old fast.
They press for real answers.
To them it's a laugh,
testing the limits of language
to see how long you last.
Removal to Nth degree.
I'm muted, breathing heavily,
left hanging on the telephone,
but I know that you are right at home.
Who's pushing your bu*tons now?
Who's making you laugh?
I'm sorry, Ms. West, but
I am for real.