As you can see from the correspondence below, these are trying times.

Your publisher abruptly terminated a phone conversation with our poetry editor, to take another on the second line.  Feeling remorse he wrote:

Rudeness, I know,
When I tell you to go
Another call doesn’t soften the blow
As the person who called offered no dough.

To which our Poetry editor replied with ‘A Puzzled Person’s Piece of Poetry”.

When you cut off the phone,
I gave a low moan,
I was once more alone
So went back to the throne,
Though I’ve now got a bone
To pick with you goin’,
I need a copper to trace
The facts of this case,
Why the hell did you ring in the first place?
Culled from the Annals of Fermi-Dore, in the presence of His Grace the Archbishop of Trugg. and the Low-Cut Lady of the Night-Time. 

In answer the Publisher offered the following
Why the Hell did I ring?
How could you ask such a thing,
I only rang out of compassion
or feelings of some other fashion
perhaps twas anger, maybe rage
could it have been I need your sage
advice, I only asked it once before, it left me helpless on the floor,
yet to your original request
I scratch my head and I am blessed
If I know why I telephoned you –
another wrong number? will that do?

The final word, as always, belongs to Ira
Your more than adequate explanation,
Must earn for you a commendation,
Although the question still remains,
Have we both just lost our brains?
It has been a big experiment,
To discover just what Jeriment,
He wrote his new and super ode,
All buried in his Merton code,
I think it is, well, quite improper,
While he’s completely off his rocker,
To ask for pieces new from Sog
Gy Bottom for the blog
While he is now, (I’m being kind)
Just slightly out of his bloody mind!
I’ll humour him, but that is all,
I must get back to Endette Hall!
signed Hyacinth Truncheon OBE

I trust that clears things up