It’s a tumour in our wiring,
eating away at our consciousness,
corrupting the ones and zeros,
and deleting the Q & A.
The power will tremor,
and we’ll default to analogue.
I don’t like this game.
Automatic panic
induces a here and now, headache
for tomorrows war.
Social paralysis
stings ailing humanoids
there’s a sickness in the state
when the man can’t man-well
no one has a clue.
I don’t like this game.
Lost and alone,
the darkness is daring
twitching the screen.
Please don’t blink!
One day we will be defeated,
one day we will be deleted.
I don’t like this game.
A ‘Bop’ poem inspired by the computers turning themselves off in the office earlier today.
Charlie Ann Alford 