by Greg Du Pille

Created on: January 27, 2009

It really is a strange odd thing
Perhaps because I'm old
Technology's got a spell on me
but left me in the cold.

There it sits upon my desk,
Inactive yet not perplexed,
Lurking, brooding, listening hard
For some incoming txt.

Besides my PC does it stay,
Serene, inactive, darkly mute.
My speakers dance its noisy squarks,
Then silence resolute

I guess I crave the fix
Of instant sweet response,
Yet I have hands of putty
You txt with nonchalance

But no-one txts me once again
As I sit waiting here
For minimal human contact
From those that I hold dear

Perhaps it's the reception
That's keeping it away
So I move you round my bedroom
Your message still astray.

At last I have a message!
Deviation from the mean!
But now my eyes come to look
They can't read the damned screen.

So, yes, I hate my cellphone
I feel as I'm its slave
I could txt you if I wanted to
But I'm really not that brave

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