Sometimes glue fails
Furniture falls apart
The computer’s not working.
Then the signal arrives (perhaps
by Federal Express) that that
was fatal error number fourteen, and
Sometimes I wish we were back
in the darkest days of the Middle Ages
moving slowly, insouciantly
so to speak, on our Dumb Beasts.
That was when we were so much more,
like our animals I mean, and whatever
machines we had were still simple.
And if we had a need for bravery
there was always a crusade
On which we could go gallivanting.
Now we sit in our cubicles
with our tubicles of glue. No way, Man.
There’s no way you’re going to win.
O for those goodly pigs, and for adding
up to twenty on your toes.