A HALLOWEEN POE-M, as in EDGAR ALLEN POE-M!

 

 

Once upon a midnight dreary, fingers cramped and vision bleary,

Books piled high and printouts scattered 'cross the office floor,

Longing for the warmth of bedsheets, still I sat there doing spreadsheets,

Having reached the bottom line, took floppy from a darkened drawer,

Then invoked the SAVE command and waited for the disk to store.

Only this and nothing more.
 

Deep into the pixels peering, long I sat there wond'ring, fearing,

Doubting, while the disk kept churning, turning yet to churn some more.

But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token.

"Save!" I said, "You cursed mother! Save my data from before!"

One line did the phosphors sputter, only this and nothing more.

'Twas "ABORT? RETRY? IGNORE???"

 

 

Was there bug or viral hoard --playing havoc in my motherboard?

My body drained of blood, as I faced thoughts unthought before.

Carefully, I weighed the choices as the disk made hellish noises.

The cursor flashed, insistent, waiting, baiting me to enter more.

Clearly I must press a key, choosing one, not two or four.

and from just this oh so brief menu, "ABORT? RETRY? IGNORE?"

 

 

With fingers pale and trembling, I touched keyboard, my heart rending,

praying to forgotten gods my scribblings be restored,

hoping for some guarantee, timidly, I pressed a key.

On the screen there still persisted, words as mocking as before.

Ghastly grim they blinked and taunted, as my patience wore,

saying only this: "ABORT? RETRY? IGNORE?"

 

 

I tried to catch the chips off guard, and pressed again, but twice as hard.

I pleaded with the gleaming screen: I begged, I cried, then swore.

Now, in mighty lamentation, trying random combination,

do what I would, came stoic answer as evil as before.

Cursor blinking, cruelly winking, an imp behind a glassy door.

"Hey schmuck? ABORT? RETRY? IGNORE??"

 
There I sat, distraught, exhausted, by my own machine accosted.

weeping blubbering screaming, pounding upon my office floor.

when suddenly a dreadful sight; a lightning bolt cut through the night.

wrenching from a throat gone dry, a screamed out groan of horror.

The lightning bolt had zapped the power, clearing work of many hours

sums and thoughts, research, data, gone for evermore.

 

 

I know not where this Hades is, this thirsty nether world

 only know my bytes were taken, and to this region hurled

Beyond the reach of mortal souls, beyond the ether, down black holes

where shades stroll with the finest thoughts that mankind never bore,

a land ruled by a hellish figure, Lord "ABORT? RETRY? IGNORE?."

 

 

And when I've ceased to walk this earth, and my .exe files boot no more,

I'll join my data wand'ring, on that dark, Plutonic shore,

on bended knees embrace my lost files, then rise to greet with wide smiles,

he who nursed my orphaned children, the ideas I never bore.

And I shall strangle this thief of words, this king of turds,

Lord ABORT? RETRY? IGNORE??"

 

 

*    *         *         *       *      *    *

 
May we all fondly remember Edgar Allen Poe tonight and try to get

the master of tormented prose on our ouija boards, as the doors

of Hades open and all the tormented souls reach out to contact us,

the living.

It's rumored that we are the living and they aren't.

Just as it's rumored that THEY are the tortured ones, and we aren't!

HA!

A.S.H.