Thursday 21 February 2013

Old PC

The old pc wouldn’t sort her fault
She begged. She blubbed. She hit the malt
She screamed until her cheeks were salt
The old pc as moveable as basalt
As if King Mark to her Iseult
Ignored her pleas, her angry tumult
She struck the old pc for little result
So the pc nicked her for assault
He wasn’t a computer.

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