This was one of the last poems I wrote for my Poetry 406 class last semester. It has gone through one edit so far, but I'm sure it could use another. Any suggestions, comments, or questions are welcome.
I will die a gruesome death, on a Monday
or maybe a Wednesday, whichever is
My fingernails will be peeled backwards
with a stylus, and my eyes burned with a laser
I will be stoned by writing blocks, pummeled
by keystrokes, and backspacing my way out,
I will avoid paying my tab.
I will be beaten in paragraph form, double spaced.
I will be berated by punctuation, the colon
of their jokes:
What did the semi-colon say to the colon?
Mine’s longer than yours.
My head will undergo rigorous testing
to determine the impact durability of keyboards.
I will bring new meaning to the saying
“This homework will be the death of me”
It’s Times New Roman like these that
Perpetuates the feeling of Impact there can be
on Poor Richard’s creativity.
There’s nothing quite like being stuffed
inside a 17” monitor and left to die.
Alone, with your blocks.