I called you on Monday but Sir Thomas More answered the phone.
He couldn't speak very well because he was holding
his head in his hands. I didn't know that he was your uncle.

I called you on Tuesday but Professor H. M. Wogglebug, T. E. answered the
phone.
I couldn't hear him very well. He was munching on The Poetics
and bleeding syllables from his eyes.

I called you on Wednesday but a rhinoceros answered the phone.
He was angry because Leonardo da Vinci had scribbled the
Mona Lisa on his horn.

I called you on Thursday but Constantine XI Palaeologus answered the phone.
He swore at me in Greek because the receiver pained his left
hand where an arrow was shot through.

I called you on Friday and you answered the phone.
Your Grecian spell had become unstuck. A boyfriend arose
out of gingerbread conjurey and you politely told me
I was out of luck.

Poetry Magazine