Today's poems [2.24.08]

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                            Abort, Retry, Ignore
     
   
Once upon a midnight dreary, fingers cramped and vision bleary,
System manuals piled high and wasted paper on the floor,
Longing for the warmth of bedsheets,
Still I sat there, doing spreadsheets:
Having reached the bottom line,
I took a floppy from the drawer.
Typing with a steady hand, I then invoked the SAVE command
But got instead a reprimand: it read "Abort, Retry, Ignore."

Was this some occult illusion? Some maniacal intrusion?
These were choices Solomon himself had never faced before.
Carefully, I weighed my options.
These three seemed to be the top ones.
Clearly, I must now adopt one:
Choose Abort, Retry, Ignore.

With my fingers pale and trembling,
Slowly toward the keyboard bending,
Longing for a happy ending, hoping all would be restored,
Praying for some guarantee
Finally I pressed a key -
But on the screen what did I see?
Again: "Abort, Retry, Ignore."

I tried to catch the chips off-guard -
I pressed again, but twice as hard.
Luck was just not in the cards.
I saw what I had seen before.
Now I typed in desperation
Trying random combinations
Still there came the incantation:
Choose: Abort, Retry, Ignore.

There I sat, distraught, exhausted, by my own machine accosted
Getting up I turned away and paced across the office floor.
And then I saw an awful sight:
A bold and blinding flash of light -
A lightning bolt had cut the night and shook me to my very core.
I saw the screen collapse and die
"Oh no - my database," I cried.
I thought I heard a voice reply,
"You'll see your data Nevermore."

To this day I do not know
The place to which lost data goes.
I bet it goes to heaven where the angels have it stored.
But, as for productivity, well
I fear that it goes straight to hell.
And that's the tale I have to tell.
Your choice: Abort, Retry, Ignore.
  

               There was a young man of the Tweed 
               Who sucked his wife's arse thro' a reed. 
                    When she had diarrhoea 
                    He'd let none come near, 
               For fear they should poach on his feed. 

            Remember those two of Aberystwyth 
            Who connected the things that they pissed with? 
                She sat on his lap 
                But they both had the clap, 
            And they cursed with the things that they kissed with. 

Stuffing the turkey at Christmas
Reminded me of you
The melons in the market
The pears and peaches too
Cracking open Christmas nuts
Brought memories of your gentle touch
But all the while it hurt so much
'cos I'm still in love with you...


Copyright: D. Harvey 1998.

A company of Grenadier Guards 
               While traversing the park, formed in squads, 
                    Saw two naked statues 
                    At three-quarter pratt views, 
               Which perceptibly stiffened their rods. 

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