O Dell laptop, you are now as dead
as the priest that took my first confession.
Your hard drive swarms with all of the unread

monstrosities that hatched through writing sessions
where caffeine did what booze does on blind dates.
I could take you to the laptop technician

to rescue pictures, scanned certificates
and first drafts that went on to almost shine,
and I would do so if not for the thought

of all my darkest brain farts being seen
by another, half discerning human mind.
Even the dirtiest crumbs of online porn

could not leave me a fraction as ashamed
as knowing that some speccy snark has ogled
my secret wanky tendencies to blend

my noblest thoughts with dog-eared doggerel.


1 Comment (+add yours?)

  1. peter litton
    Feb 27, 2012 @ 01:48:23

    In one hundred thousand years time, alien archaeologists will resurrect your old lap top, and, using their advanced technology, decipher the contents of it’s hard drive…will they conclude that the primitive inhabitants of this third planet from the sun were clawing their way towards civilisation.


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