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.
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