Rising from a raucous sleep at 4 am finds
nothing much has changed. PC takes an
age in start-up sequencing, reveals a raft
of system safety checks have failed – it
then reboots but can’t or won't explain.
You could remark intrigued the similarity
to life is underplayed – but callously a
disrespect for standards long established
still engages greater minds in ugly dreams
of the infallible though deemed unstable.
‘This is the here and now’ it seems to say;
whatever else you wish will be in future
scenes for contemplation – if you make
priorities, submit requests in triplicate at
least one month advanced!
You’d think that waking up legitimised an
entrée to the day, that’s but the first faux
pas; breaking flaky sleep would seem a
crime until the system’s cleaned and
purged repentant souls of yesterday.
© 3 February 2010, I. D. Carswell
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem