Harry Potter: Already There, Wherever ‘there’ Is Poem by Margaret Alice

IT uploaded an updated version of
the same program, this old computer
can’t cope with: When new documents
are opened, it freezes in shock; an
analogy of my own psychology: I fed
new software into my brain, stipulating
being happy all the time; but my
hardware body is clearly not ready,
my head insists on having migraine;
although only health and wealth are
allowed; my credit card fares even
worse in being overdrawn all the time;
if only I could think the right thought,
the theory says, it wouldn’t happen
at all: I suspect mental dysfunction
when my brain cannot meet the wonderful
requirements I keep feeding it: The
universe knows about my dreams; but
instead of correspondents and friends
proliferating, colleagues go on pension
and authors ascend unto heaven – how
else to account for their strange
disappearance; unless they fall into
black holes appearing all over the
bubble universe - my question is:
When is it my turn to disapparate*;
shall I find them already there,
wherever ‘there’ is?