This isn't the worst poem I've ever written. But it is close.
"The Verizon Wingman": Ode to a Phone Most Clutch
Hello, my little friend,
I must say I'm sad to say goodbye,
But as close as you've been to me,
I'm Troy Browning you and here's why,
You've been with me all these years,
Through three (!!!) girlfriends thick and thin*,
And buzzed and vibrated when I needed,
A solution to the hole I was in.
You took photos at my beck and call,
Of my family, my home, my loves,
You took photos of my cousin small,
That got the girls all "awww".
You eavesdropped on my conversations,
Cooed and clucked your disapproval,
And sighed when you heard my undulations,
Of secrets not kept frugal.
You made calls to Kansas, The West Side, Texas, Pittsburgh,
Clifton was your tin-can bro,
Like all good wingmen you went mrrghh,
Every time I dialed "dat ho".
We shared every nick and scratch,
Every vicissitude of life,
We clutched each other cheek-to-cheek,
And got five bars through strife.
[OK, that's a lie- Verizon domestic coverage is TERRIBLE]
You took down numbers, all the digits,
Of girls for whom there was no chance,
You T9 their names when my fingers fidget,
And don't laugh at me when I text them for a dance,
But now it's time, my friend,
To flee from the wicked and the corrupt,
I've troubled you enough with all my problems,
And frankly, our contract is up.
*and maybe a few that don't count.