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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