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.