Ode: To depict a [Mac], you must first come to [love] it.

I swear by every rule in the Mac

owner’s manual

 

that I hate you, repeatedly

shutting me out, demanding

 

passwords after I’ve laid

you, bare, on the table

 

circuits smirking, working only

when it pleases

 

you – you selfish bastard

have a heart

 

and crunch through my souls core,

spit out my pips to pierce

 

a root or two, you were

forbidden for a reason.

 

O’ my trusty Mac

my work shy clap trap

 

I would feed you nothing but

bitter speed and LSD

 

I mean, LCD streams, to paint

you Facebook blue

 

and Moodle black, throwing

your silver hair back

 

your buttons bare for any quirky

QWERTY fingers to linger

 

over your ctrl key, stashed

up my sleeve you are my slave

 

so have no say in the insults

I’m tapping

 

but as I type I might be inclined

to forgive you.

The End

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