The monitor is male, and my mentor,
The genial host of my virtual world.
He tells me what to do, to think,
And I, like a novice, respond accordingly,
Hanging on every word.
I ‘Embed All Fonts’, ‘Include Linked Files’, even
‘Create New Action’. Like God.
He monitors my movements.
I click on ‘Shut Down’ and, distracted, drift away from my desk.
He beeps, urgently, and asks me
‘Do You Want To Save The Data for Other Applications?’
Yes I say Yes! Momentarily reverting to type.
My counsellor suggests a week or two away
‘Recharge your batteries – do you good –
Come back refreshed – new start.’
My pet rodent, a rare black rat of the species Rattus rattus,
Has no time for him. She Invades his Personal Space,
Condemns his Cognitive Behaviour Therapy from my shoulder.
‘Take the rat with you. She’d like that, wouldn’t you?’
I don’t think so.
Anyway, he’s crazy the counsellor – talking to the rat, for a start.
She doesn’t talk to strangers.
I end the session.
Back home, the monitor is not performing.
He’s been unwell, looks blue.
A virus, I’m told.
I’m told to ‘Rebuild’. Delete his memory and ‘Reboot’.
‘I’m not God,’ I say to the keyboard, ‘I can’t just kill him.’
Distressed, I ‘Shut Down’ for the final time, and weep.
Beep.
Cathy McCallum
1 comment:
It is strange to me that after more than two decades of computers and over a decade of the Internet, there are so many us,(I gladly but sadly include myself amongst the number) who do not understand the messages received from the innards of the infernal, volcanic machine, as it belches its warnings, platitudes and praises to the populus? While those who are more adept or conscienious or perhaps blessed by the gods of binary construction sail on through the dilemma without so much as a sigh.
Cathy, writing this poem is, I would think, tant amount to heresy for the knowledgeable. It is good to know there is an apostate in our midst!
That the poem zings along with such discriptive language and not a word or line wasted; even the rodent pet is metaphorically included in that disparagement of all things digitally computerised.
Would Mr Microsoft have seen this as a warning or a condemnation of his heavenly abour, I wonder?
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