my personal technologies

tablet, notebook and phone

lie discarded beside me

on the bedroom floor like

butchered pieces of

armour as the ‘wordbirds’

flood in knowing I am

defenceless,

 

they pick voraciously at my

corpse with the knowledge

that I will remember nothing

in the morning, so cautiously

I play dead and impassively

think up clever rhymes to

help me recall the ones that

inflict most damage,

 

knowing I will capitulate

I surreptitiously allow my

arm to fall in a blind search

for a weapon, vainly stirring

the carpet with my finger as

if disturbing a stillwater,

 

the weight of my notebook

feels like a sword in my hand

as the rabid words, fearing

capture, take flight, as

once again, I am left in a

desert at 4am not knowing

which direction to take,

whilst stoically watching my

expectations busily packing

to fly south

 

© Graham R Sherwood 04/25