Best Technician Poems
I wrote two terrible poems last night.
Will this one be another?
I am looking at the clock.
It is time to leave and get the oil changed.
I read the sign as I pull in.
No Shirt, No Shoes, No Mask, No Service.
I don my mask before entering.
I greet the girl behind the counter.
Do I need an appointment?
I do not know all the rules.
She replies, walk-ins welcomed.
Politely takes my keys.
Just an oil change JC, I nod.
She knows me by name.
Not because of my Poetry.
It is just that I have been here before.
The service starts promptly.
Three now toil on my vehicle.
It used just to be one.
I am the lone customer in the reception area.
Tv still playing the same station.
No more free coffee.
My soul smiles, anyway.
I guess I should have expected it.
I start to listen to Janine Jansen, Vivaldi.
My earbuds are a no-name brand.
I wish I had my Audiophile headset.
But that would be rude.
The technician approaches me.
I was expecting this.
It is not a cabin filter this time.
That would only cost me an extra twenty bucks.
He explains I need my transmission fluid changed.
That is another One Hundred and Eighty bucks.
Shows me the samples he took.
I agree, and he says it will take a little while longer.
As I sit here listening to music.
My keys arrive twenty minutes later.
Drat, I still need a little more hope.
I was looking for one more concerto.
Time to pay as panic sets.
Did I forget my wallet?
No, it is here in my back pocket.
A wave of relief washes over me.
I am slowly returning to normalcy.
On the way home, I am thinking, Metallica.
1st place
BRIAN'S CHOICE 10,any form,any theme
Contest Judged: 5/30/2020 4:05:00 AM
Sponsored by: Brian Strand
Robot
Tin-can man.
Input, circuit, and overdrive.
Shadow of the future and the past.
Movement hidden, you are not alive.
Programs burned and running fast.
What else can you do?
Wakening up every morning,
and not able to read the news.
Passing a breeze God gave you.
Barely feeling the I love you~s.
Your data has been set to self destruct!
Walking around all confused.
While your memory is set on stuck.
A heart not made to rust.
Hanging laundry out in the rain.
Lazy technician you can't trust.
Look what he's made out of you.
Ready to blow your thrust!
Compute- abort- system to self destroy.
Restoring the joy sucked out of you.
Input: input: information .
Wipe out the old, store in new.
Delete all files to recycle bin.
System reboot to life again.
With a new program that reads:
Feeling like a human once again.
(This robot is on)
.(self shut down!)
P.D. was here!
Should'a Read The Fine Print
I am intrigued by all computer tasks,
and competent and skilled in every scheme
from word process and graphic arts design,
to spreadsheets, database and all between.
But, I became too confident last week
when I downloaded upgrades that were bad
for programs that I use...I acted quick...
and what a sad computer crash I had!
You see, the upgrade versions were not right;
computer froze with dreaded screen of blue!
Technician came and, for a hefty price,
it was repaired and set to go as new.
The moral is, I thought I knew it all
and cut some corners...shortened up the stint.
I learned a lesson I will not forget...
I really should'a read that dang fine print!
Sandra M. Haight
~10th Place~ Premiere Congest
Contest: I Really Should'a Read the Fine Print
Sponsor: John Lawless
Iambic Meter: 10 syllables and 5 feet per line
Judged: 04/28/2016
True story - This happened April 2, 2016, and I got my computer back a week later.
Thank goodness I had all my documents and important files backed up on an
external hard drive (done every day) whereby I hooked it up to an older computer and could proceed with my work - especially for Poetry Soup!!
"Where does it hurt?"
She asks, clipboard like a shield,
pen cocked like a firing pin.
"Here," I say,
pointing to the silence just beneath my ribcage.
Not the lungs. Not the liver.
The place where sorrow goes to calcify.
They send me down long corridors,
all white noise and flickering fluorescents—
like memory on a bad day.
I wear a gown that opens in the back,
like every conversation I regret.
Inside the machine,
I lie still as a kept secret.
The MRI growls like an old god,
searching my insides
for evidence of war crimes.
I think about the shrapnel—
not metal, but moments.
The look she gave me
the night everything broke,
like she was already ghosting
through the wreckage of my voice.
I tell the technician:
It’s there. I can feel it.
Each breath razors against it.
But the scan is clean.
No foreign objects. No narrative.
They call it “psychosomatic”
like it’s a compliment,
like my body is staging a play
my mind refuses to direct.
Back in the doctor's office,
she says, "There's nothing inside you."
And I laugh—sharp and wrong.
Isn't that what pain is?
The something that feels like everything
and shows up as nothing?
I ask if she can x-ray a metaphor.
She doesn’t smile.
Just types and nods and offers
a pamphlet on stress management
as if I haven't already built
cathedrals from my coping mechanisms.
I leave with no diagnosis—
just a quiet war still raging
beneath my skin.
A soldier in peacetime,
saluting ghosts
that never made it
into the file.
Methinks Mine Earlier Rhyme Came Across Desperate...
For Hard Cold Cash
This small medium at large
kibitzer did appear
more brash (albeit) poetically,
and insinuate with soft pedal blare
perhaps at the expense of dare
ring to losing followers, this crash
test dummies star performer
did not mean to ensnare,
perhaps hypnotically tugged
heartstrings with his flair
analogous to birds eye glare
ruffling tail feathers of
a frosty buoy hoar gull (hare
reed) loon seething with hormonal
secretion and the brink to engineer
foolproof mating elaborate fanfare,
when bytes of my obviously clear
expression to succor minted heir
to a fortune (courtesy
anonymous philanthropist), now leer
re: asper point blank plea
for wads of moolah, but mere
lee issuing agitation where
substantial outlay to repair
(passenger side rear)
brake assembly, the automotive
technician espied situation where,
abrasion and erosion clear
as day, which critical assessment
warranted me to declare
an immediate affirmative
decision, which near
broke ma stainless steel piggy bank
to tune of six hundred bucks - hair
reed, an understatement, almost near
lee six months to the day, a prior reap
pair cost similar dollar figure,
which even at present
found yours truly still in despair,
then only to experience,
sans "FAKE" foreseer
(as ordained by Oracle
of Delphi) despite prayer
for me to vouchsafe share
ring at least one daily
compliment to the missus - neh veer
being privy (during our
twenty second plus year)
of whetted bull
lust stick missile exchanges, there
came shortfall of forced favorable blare
ring of said utterenced, thus superstition
an ugly head didst rear.
My husband John and I
We're sitting down for tea,
Suddenly I spied
Something black in front of me
John put down his teacup
And with a look of complete surprise
Said, "What was that black thing
That flashed before my eyes?"
The black thing whizzed across the room
Then disappeared out of sight,
We had been out all day so
All our doors and windows
Were closed tight
The room was quiet,
We could not hear a sound
Not the squeak of a mouse
Or the flap of a wing,
In the air or on the ground.
The black thing had vanished,
Into thin air.
No rodent or bird,
Found anywhere.
Was it a bat?
Or baby rat?
Rat's don't fly,
So it couldn't be that.
The black thing flashed past,
At such a pace,
It would help if you were slower to notice features or face.
It seemed to disappear,
Into the air conditioner,
High up on the wall
If it did, there was still no sound,
No chirp, tweet or squawl
We turned off the heating,
In case the black thing
Had got inside
And it had died.
What an evening that turned out to be,
A conundrum indeed for John and me.
We are waiting for a call,
For the technician to take the conditioner
Off the wall.
To solve the mystery
Of who that unwelcome guest can be.
…….a lot to giveaway
Nothing is sweeter than restored faith,
as too, the restored hotplate, the crashed computer
now renewed by the turn of a screw.
The electrician, the technician who overthrew such
arrogant technology, and me faithless, yet
I remember, time standing still, eternal,
Summer’s afternoons, in boarding school
left with only paper, scissors and glue and
the enchanted worlds that grew
Childhood is a lot,
too much to giveaway for this
complicated adulthood, never to find that child
the little lost pilgrim –
her inventive-ness.
I saw you this morning in the waiting
room, not yet invisible, and later
sitting in the blue wrap-around frock
the technician asks you to unwrap.
Since last Wednesday the flesh
seems ashen, and light as a box
to be shipped away at your expense.
Only the white of the x-ray is so heavy,
you can’t put it down.
Everyone needs one
I come and go sick or healthy
I create beautiful pictures-Artist
I write stories-Writer
I use my voice all the time-Singer
I dramatize everything you see-Actor/Actress
I fix your computer-Computer Technician
I repair your vehicles-Mechanic
I heal your pets-Veterinarian
I educate you well-Teacher
I’m their when you’re dying-Doctor
I supply your medication-Pharmacist
I prevent forest fires-Ranger
I take care of your children-Babysitter
I hire the needed for jobs-Businessmen
I translate your words-Interpreter
I keep the people in town safe-Policemen
I solve unwanted crimes-FBI Agent
I make sure you stay in your cell-Prison Guard
I play mind games-Psychiatrist
I fight for your rights-Lawyer
I arbitrate your freedom-Judge
I make decisions that affect my country-President
I fight for this country-Soldier
I hardly rest-Congressmen
I entertain you and your family-Comedian
I make you choke on your words-Debater
Sometimes I rip you off-Telemarketers
I make you lose your house-Bill Collectors
I steal your money in a secretive way-Government
I destroy your country-Mobster
I’m after your president-Terrorists
I may be rich, average, or poor but at least I do my best
Until the end
I work in an office
where they call me a geek
You can call me a wizard
But don't call me a freak
I'm a happy soul
Yes a handy technician
Bright computer buff
handsome and good looking
I keep all the operators
Working it out
If a machine breaks down
I'm here to help out
But don't mess with me
I could ruin your day
One press on your keyboard
And I'll blow you away
You're the one to be left
Looking like a clown
So don't call me a freak
When I ain't around
I work in an office
where they call me a geek
You can call me a wizard
But never a freak
The workers in here
They come and they go
I belong in this office
I'm part of the show
Yes
I work in an office
Where they call me a geek
Not very polite
But it's better than freak
© Copyright KC. Leake
10th January 2015
All Rights Reserved
Purely Fictional !!
It has never been my intension
nor was it ever a bone of contention
to alter or disrupt the social convention
but now is the time to pay close attention
to the decline of the human condition
Responsibility rescinded creating moral decomposition
accountability abandoned causing legal repercussion
right and wrong are muddled in a malicious juxtaposition
public opposition has festered into social imperfection
the omission of tradition by politician’s redefinition
HEED THIS ADMONITION OR ARDENT APPREHENSION
SAGACIOUS SUSPICION AND PERSISTANT PREVENTION
Of the decommission of the Physician, Pediatrician
the Technician, and the Mathematician
and give this acquisition to those with no ambition
even those under suspicion of sedition
or held in detention without fear of restitution
This is the deception of the devolution
of the middle classification
and the total destruction
of American personification
praise the Lord and pass the ammunition
contest entry date - 7-24-15
written / post date - 3-20-15
Applying for teacher certification
I caused one technician much consternation
My fingerprints had simply not registered
Again and again the test he administered
“Guess you could have had a career in crime,”
He retorted reapplying ink grime
He said this had never happened before
But the results he surely couldn’t ignore
He sent me to an experienced tester
Who made many cracks, joked like a jester
He claimed my blank prints were quite unique
Turned over my hands just to take a peek
The delicate lines could scarcely be seen
And the fingers themselves were awfully lean
“What work do you do?” he asked with a scowl
As he removed the ink with a towel
“I now type 82 words per minute,
Most of my life I’ve been immersed in it"
My helpless fingers were worn to the bone
And my tester let out a mournful groan
Apparently pounding on my keyboard
Had produced an undesired reward
Faint thumbprints revealed no criminal record
And I won an overachiever award
Typing is essential to the work I do
Next time they need prints, I’ll remove my shoes
** True story for the Finger Frenzy contest
Gregory Siker was a fireworks technician.
He developed a show that won recognition.
One night he got confused
by the wiring he used.
Doc said he died of an ignition condition.
WOULD YOU TRUST A COMPUTER?
Here is the new revolutionary airliner for the world; it’s a flying dream, so advanced.
Full of electronic gadgets and toys doing all the work, just program the computer, sit back and enjoy the flight.
You’re a computer technician six miles above the earth. Beware, though, if something goes wrong, you will die as the computer is always right, a mere man is wrong.
It looks like man has become redundant from the cockpit in the name of progress.
I think this is not the way to do it; progress isn’t always right – not when 500 people die on a lonely hillside due to some stupid glitch in the system.
Larry Randolfson was a brain physician
who soon wore himself out in that position.
Getting inside live minds
was the worst of all grinds.
So he became an autopsy technician.