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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/2056699-aftermath
by Rhyssa
Rated: E · Poetry · Contest Entry · #2056699
when the cops show . . .
I hear the sirens coming close
they’re lurking right outside
in record haste the tired users
log-off far and wide
but it’s my house (for fourteen years)
nowhere to run and hide.

it’s always like this when we meet
(as we do once a year)
we’re showing off, we’re writing hard,
we’re giddy, we’ve no fear—
we sate ourselves on banter
‘til the web goes out of gear.

and when the internet is down,
by contests, wit, and cups,
when Ren and Fyn, (most everyone)
are too worn out to sup,
they say, “oh, Rhyssa won’t you be a doll
go clean that sucker up.”

and so I pick up crumpled bits
of worn computer code
I exile the empty cans
and flush out the commodes
and polish all—so those web cops
won’t censure our abode.

line count: 24

Prompt

© Copyright 2015 Rhyssa (sadilou at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/2056699-aftermath