Plastic Spirit
by Pjamms
If you’re not careful
you too can be a human widget
Invulnerable
Starkly punchcarding along
to the nervous tick
of a cathode-ray god
All is neatly within the spreadsheet cell
but every so often
Without much of a warning
The mind has a glorious system crash
developing an irreparable disk fragment
and for a chunk of tick-tock time
We remember how to breathe
But don’t get comfy
All it takes is a pinch
(lust, gluttony, greed, et al.)
The capital vice on your brain
squeezes a little tighter
until it’s unbearable
Expert hands are called upon
to file that chunk
purge that file
and get you back “into shape”
Widgets.
Once again
life emerges
As a dialog box
blink-twitching the eternal question
OK or Cancel?
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