Toshiba Temerity

Sleep, being as scarce as snow in July, was reason enough
to rise at three in the morning and rouse my computer
from its sleep.  As a writer, as a poet, I saw no harm.
Ideas are often loose as change, and machines are
paper wrappers allowing us to wrap our coins
no matter where the sun.  One shiny dime
was an idea--a thriller, no less.  Thus, my
computer, my trusty Toshiba, would
trade places with me.  That seemed
like good money.

Ah, but no sooner had I typed a few words when my
computer spoke to me.  I tensed my spine and in a
start I bumped my knee upon the slide and heard
the keyboard clack.  I was not online, and so this
voice began a chill within my spine that rose like
manic wrens within to tug the larynx and neck’s
nape like beating wings were riot prone.  Then
gritting teeth I tasted pork and blinked wide
eyes like lashing fear, and dashed like lambs
though seated still within a cushioned
chair with arms.

This proposal came from RAM, or maybe Word, computer’s
tongue, but spoke it did and in dim light I gazed with pale
upon the screen.  I will be you, I’ll take your place, if
only for a day, were the words to that effect, and
suddenly I knew for sure the violation women
know when seized by rapists and then raped.
This was my mind; how did it know? 
What port of access did it find?
Those beating wings swirled
‘round my heart as I imagined one red light,
so sinister, 2001, Space Odyssey--I thought of Hal.

No will to power shall abide, no, not for fortune, not for fame.
With haste I utilized my mouse to shut Toshiba down at
once, yet it continued as before while uttering to me
these words: You don’t really want to do that, do
you?  I hit the power button, thus, still nothing
would obey.  In flail with fear I yanked the
plug and finally the screen went dead, yet
still a red light like an eye.


40 Lines
Writer’s Cramp
1-25-16