friday sonnet (#216: maintenance)

a brief interruption of service later & sure,

batshit crazy, staring down the financial

times, hair bundled into birdnests as

technology makes today feel like forty

years ago, first aesthetically, then later,

indistinguishable from the experience,

each emotion casually watermarked,

this one stamped tantrum & you’re sloppy

& raving, spittle all over your chin.

buying the performance edition scores two

badges, a gearbox & some lurid trim, so

keep pedalling & avoid eye contact. anti-

social? you bet. saving for a modchip &

maybe headers / bitter, just a hint of twisted.