Poetry: Untitled

(NB: ideas as to a title that could be used would be much appreciated.)

All this chatter, incessant, forever
Murmurings and whispers I struggle to hear
Louder shouts of hostility, anger
People saying my name, then cheers.

"It's not a helpline!" I want to shout back,
"Not a toll-free number to solve your ills.
Not something to say lightly, with a snigger
or when a bad day has left you chilled."

But then they would say, "This is just carping;
we talk to you hoping you speak back."
But why must everyone bring me their issues?
I can't always provide the wisdom they lack.

200 years - no, more! - of these voices
and rare when someone says thank you
200 years of, "Can you forgive me?"
I should say, "No, I've got better things to do."