Email Poem

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Poem

Check in Ted,
Check in Fred.
Office space in the nervous system,
and the employees are nervous,
one wrong move and kablamo,
they are splattered on the ceiling,
on the floor.
Brain matter would be everywhere,
but no matter,
the show must go on.
Impulses convulse and pulse here and there,
and Ted and Fred are in control of it all,
in their three by eight inch stall.
Cabinets of memories long forgot,
newer folders of memories just got.
Things taught and learned,
Fred turns to Ted and asks,
"Ever wonder what's outside these walls?
What's past our three by eight inch stall?"
Ted could only answer what he knew,
"This is it Fred, 
this is all,
all we'll ever see,
either me or you.
Now go check the hamster, 
I think he's fallen off his wheel,
I have to deal with a fax,
that informed me of a troubling fact,
that we left the lights on with no one home,
that the gears are turning with no result."
Fred turned away to check on Benny,
Benny had indeed fallen off,
dead of a whooping cough.
The end of Benny marked Ted and Fred's certainty of being alone.
So now the two lone brain running businessmen check out.
Swipe out Ted,
Swipe out Fred,
Benny's not the only thing dead....

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