Idiot Lights
The trouble with idiot lights,
You see, it’s a problem
That goes, perhaps,
Farther than me.
There's abundant ignorance
That floats in the bog
In a kingdom where machines
Can measure breath’s grog.
More than vast numbers
Aggregating in crime,
There's a feeling that
What is happening.
Somehow, isn't mine.
Big obvious red light, birthed
a message, idiot message on the dash.
Just the observation
Almost made me crash.
The warning, foreboding,
Read simply "check gauges.”
So sitting at the light,
I scanned all the stages
With the sets of information
A car shares on its pages.
I sit, quietly confused,
But the intersection’s raging.
The gas tank wasn't empty,
The oil read fine,
The engine not hot,
Battery volts seemed in line.
Responding to the honks,
I mosey down the road.
The engine’s working fine,
But my head held quite a load,
Of all the problems awaiting
For the idiot who couldn't interpret
The idiot light code.
. . . No problems yet,
A small sigh escapes
But I am mentally set,
Will I fall for the bait?
I would make a sizable bet
That I am sitting
On some universal debt.
Then as I was using
My copier that night,
Beeping techno-barking message,
Really set me to a fright.
A word chain shackled,
Scrolling a last request
"Printer ink low."
Sounds like an open book test.
Try as I might
Following precious words in sight,
Then a new unique message:
"Insert cartridge right."
Just follow instructions?
I’m ready for a fight.
I opened HP's lid
To see what was the matter,
Then came a horrible clacking,
Tic-tic-tic-clicking,
Hardware techno choir prater.
I shut the lid, and said a quick prayer,
Hoping God could save me from taking a dare,
And shooting the damn contraption
Right then and there.
With a web site visit, and many more clicks,
I found a FAQ answer.
My problem would be fixed.
There within the info sheet
Set my big break:
“Think about it, Dummy,
Did you remove 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.
Copyright © Patrice Lauren | Year Posted 2005
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