So Many What-Ifs

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She closed the message, rolled her eyes.
In just a week, she’d counted five
requests like these, but no advice
on when her package would arrive.

According to their tracking page
she’d owned her phone for thirteen days,
and Marni’d struggled to engage
their help desk to explain her case.

Hi! Got a sec?
No need to hold back!
Please check our exclusive permissions.

With countless emails she’d been spammed.
Their urgent tone spelled bad intent.
It seemed to Marni she’d been scammed;
can’t rate a thing you weren’t sent.

Then, one month late, outside her home,
a battered box showed up, lay prone.
Inside she found protective foam,
but then, just when she touched her phone…

“Hi!” Came a knock.
“We’re here for our stock.
You’ve failed to respect our provisions.”

Two men in black she’d never met
demanded entrance to her flat, 
referred to terms she’d never read:
a legal contract, ironclad.

Enraged, but scared to make things worse
she watched them enter, undeterred.
They took the phone so briefly hers,
left her to parse their parting words:

“Wish to object?
						Inform or react? 
Please file an official petition.”

“Miss, do expect
a form, to collect
your thoughts, help us boost our position!”