My Frustrating Computer
My computer is a cantankerous soul
Its aim is to unsettle
To bite me when I least expect
To encounter a stinging nettle.
I try so hard to be consistent
Not to ruffle its fine feathers
But still it seems to take offence
And ignores what I think matters.
It hides my curser, or stops it dead
Then makes me type so small
I never did select that font
That was not my fault at all.
My rile is mounting as I type
It makes my blood run cold
It moved this section to the end
And made it all in bold.
It highlights in bright red ink
A somewhat brazen passage
It makes me cringe and hide with shame
That I ever sent that message.
It poings in laughter at my fury
My aggravation, its hilarity
It makes a joke of my persona
And a mockery of my charity.
I am convinced there is a demon
Lurking behind those keystrokes
Its purpose, to torment us
Innocent unsuspecting old folks.