The Computer
The computer sits so smugly there
This thing that’s made of chips and
wires
It doesn’t get stressed or angry or
swear
It can’t get bored and never tires
It isn’t panicked by wasting time
Its imperturbable indefatigable
Murmurs with quiet electronic hum
Its mechanical patience is
interminable
It squats there with unblinking
screen
Blandly awaiting instructions
Its regular silicone heart beats on
While we sit frantically pressing the
buttons
With incomprehensible jargon it
doesn’t bargain
Every hyphen and dot or colon or dash
Each symbol or link and capslock or
slash
Must be perfect or else the computer will
crash
It remains unphased with impenetrable
calm
There’s no end to the hours it can
afford
It doesn’t know its doing us harm
When we can’t access information its
stored
In our despair we may tear at
our hair
With its basilisk stare and time to spare
It doesn't care or know it’s won
The battle it wasn’t aware it begun
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