Not me, not at all
I have to make it clear that today’s poem is nothing to do with me, not a bit, not at all. Any conjunction with my life is entirely coincidental .
Not really up to scratch but was a bit crook today so cranked this out with little real focus.
My life was spent hammering out
code. Not the long and the short
of Morse, nor the cryptolalic
whisperings of the dispossessed.
I crafted adjuncts to accountants,
put people in their place, Smythe
after Smith, plotted the smells
from vials of oil, and harnessed
a universe of data to take
the pulse of a star. All are gone,
now, superseded by better bits.
At home, I paint, hoping even
now, to make a mark.