Bob Quinn Poet Quatrain

Somewhere Somebody

Obsolete is the byword
that keeps us buying anew,
products that last forever
simply would never do.

Paydays come in many forms
some junk is another’s treasure,
so creating problems to be solved
makes sense by the repairman’s measure.

There are industries of industry
who perpetuate themselves,
flooding markets with one thing
keeping others on the shelves.

This breeds the disingenuous cause
of saboteurs and fixers,
spawning each other endlessly
pitting inventors against the nixers.

Exhaust pipes made of mild steel
rust out and fail routinely,
planned obsolescence creating need
proving the point supremely.

Somewhere somebody is planting a bug
in my computer or my lung,
where a technician or a doctor
gets paid to see it undone.

And somewhere somebody is saying a prayer
to stop this insanity,  
of misguided and opportunistic
cannibalization of ingenuity.

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