Sunflower's Colouring Outside the Lines
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Idiot Lights Idiot Lights The trouble with idiot lights, you see, Is a problem that goes, perhaps, farther than just me. There's abundant ignorance That floats in the fog In a land where machines Daily measure breath grog. It's more than the numbers Aggregating some crime, It's the feeling that Something is happening. Somehow, the wonderful experience Doesn't seem to be mine. The idiot light turned red On the car dash. Just the observation Almost made me crash. The warning, foreboding, Read "check gauges." While sitting at the light, I scanned all the stages Of all information The car shares with me, I sit, confused, Raging at technology. The gas wasn't empty, The oil gauge fine, The engine not hot, Battery volts seemed on line. After hearing a honk, I drove down the road. The engine worked fine, But my head held a load, Of the problems awaiting The idiot who couldn't decipher The idiot light code. No problems yet, With the end, Undoubtedly, in sight. Then, as I was using My copier last night, A new beeping message, Complete with a word chain, "Printer ink low." That happens like bird rain. Try as I might To follow directions, Came a new unique message: "Insert cartridge right." I opened the lid To see what was the matter, Then came horrible clacking, And tic, tic, tic-clicking With an awful loud pratter. I shut the lid, and said a quick prayer, Hoping God could save me from taking a dare, And shooting the damn thing then and there. With a web site visit after too many clicks, I found then answer, to my problem a fix. There among the faqs sat my big break (Think about it, Dummy, Did you take off the pink tape?) So now I sit here, contemplating, Perhaps, I should consider Getting out more, and dating. The odds are better . . . with two idiots instead of one. Poetry Ad-Free Upgrades Vote for this poem
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