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Poem

When I think of all the seconds I drubbed my fingers

On the skin of long-drummed typefaces to wipe spam

Away from the screen of my inboxes in my computers

I wonder how many years of my life drift as flotsam

So many sales pitches tail in mouth in epizeuses

String their tuneless spiralling from end to no-end

Swim in the swirling soup strings of multiverse oases

Lost as jetsam into a blacksucked bottomless oven  

A spam is a foe who seeks to con you as an old friend

Sure don’t mean that old spiv driveling over your girl

But who’ll make you think you’re good for a lend

While he seeks to worm your hard disc in a whirl

McPeesee McCoffee McMoney or McMaster Kasparov

Spam is the Checkmate King none of us can fend off 

 

© T. Wignesan – Paris, from the Collection “Poems Omega Plus”, 2005.

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