Don’t you hate it when none of your tech works properly?
Technology hates you.
Like a child marooned at the dinner table
a plate of something slowly congealing
crouched before her, you sit watching
the cursor swirling endlessly in a circle.
You squint at the screen, question
no one but the empty room about
the parentage of the machine
before you, its fan whirring madly
with all the computing it is not doing.
Time definitely is not waiting for you.
Already minutes have fluidly turned
into an hour and still you gaze
at a screen intent on mutiny
to bear witness to what? A scene
of irritation and your rising ire.
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Tip for tonight’s poem
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