I Don’t Know which e-Company Tried to Abort my Poem, but I Won Anyhow (the Complacent Bastards)
Today I found a sonnet I’d mislaid.
In some brief crisis of a laptop sort.
I’d e-mailed lines to me because afraid
That in a crash a system glitch would thwart
The still unfinished fetus. Yet somehow
I had forgotten desperate measures to
Protect the unborn baby. Then just now
I found it in my drafts box waiting, new
And eager for delivery. I drew
It out, an obstetrician with a rare
Gift not for saving babies who’d turned blue
Of face but also an uncanny flair
To paste thalidomide lost limbs back where
The geeks had tried to kill with e-glitch snare.