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Divorce Court

He doted on phishing, that viral, newfangled
invasion, though most of his handshakes got tangled.
He fumbled his Trojans, cunningly dangled
in front of my mouse so that I would be wangled
to click on the bait. My nerve ends were jangled. 

And next came the item that put me in shock.
He wrote an apology titled, “Dot Doc.”
I needed a password with which to unlock
those few paltry bytes. They were all poppycock.

I guess I went into a meltdown, it’s true.
I said, “Keep your floppy and upload it, too,
but as for as this notional marriage, we’re through.” 
   
I wouldn’t have minded so much, I suppose,
but he gave me an Apple instead of a rose.

I went to my room and I cried for a week.

Do I wish him well? No. I hope he is strangled.
Are you ready to guess who he is? Knock, Knock.
Who’s there? Sad to say, my ex-husband is Who,
the cyberpunk man I unwittingly chose.
Instead of a lover, I married a geek.

02/16/2018
Minuanetta
chremamorphism

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