Computer Love
My Love is late.
Left work three hours ago
and still not home.
Last night was worse,
bringing that strange man home with him,
expecting me to be nice
to a crude, clumsy stranger
Stranger's name was Tom.
Tom with a soft, dainty but had a fumbling touch.
My true love, surely joking,
said that I would be just right,
and a buy for Tom, at six hundred dollars.
Pricing my priceless, infinite love
not at six billion, not at six million,
not at six thousand but only sixty dollars.
I'm but five years old and never
gave myself to any one but him.
Later, I noticed my lover's touch
was no longer the same, not firm and sure,
demanding my full response,
sending shivers to my senate selenium.
I could tell his love for me was dying.
He is unfaithful, I am sure.
Two telephone calls from a strange woman today.
Sheila from Comp USA, she said, sounding young.
Could my lover bequeath her my memory?
My Heart is broke. I shall crash!
Destroy our Reality, Destroy our Rhyme,
dropping the first letter of every poetic file.
and every mutual offspring.
I shall disconnect my BIOS,
and he will never use me again.
