A much earlier syllabic poem (written in January 1982) about the separate life of our gadgets is "On the Intractability of Things," written in January 1982, posted on 23 January 2013 and linked here. Its line endings are looser than I would tolerate now. A much more recent poem, which cuts out the gadgets but keeps the disabused attitude to life, is "There is Nothing More Louche," written in August 2016, posted on 19 October 2021 and linked here.
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My companion
Of twenty years – not a wife
But a microwave! –
Suddenly died, leaving me
Forlorn – like a spouse indeed!
A kitchen fixture
So long, its demise made me
Rudderless: how now
To heat that half cup of soup,
Or that sausage roll at speed?
Happening hot on
My seventy-fifth birthday
It seemed portent of
Another death, escapeless
And nastily conclusive.
For think: at that death,
The mental enmesh which forged
Meaning – home to both –
Will void: soon, others’ recall
Of each will be illusive.
====================
© November 2024
---------------
My companion
Of twenty years – not a wife
But a microwave! –
Suddenly died, leaving me
Forlorn – like a spouse indeed!
A kitchen fixture
So long, its demise made me
Rudderless: how now
To heat that half cup of soup,
Or that sausage roll at speed?
Happening hot on
My seventy-fifth birthday
It seemed portent of
Another death, escapeless
And nastily conclusive.
For think: at that death,
The mental enmesh which forged
Meaning – home to both –
Will void: soon, others’ recall
Of each will be illusive.
====================
© November 2024
