Washing them is not worthwhile
A mighty colossus such as me
Hath no time to bother with drab laundry
Upon my smartphone I shall depose
Some luckless sap to wash my clothes
Washio it seems is the poor man’s name
Collecting my breeches be his game
What happens then I know not
Preoccupied by more important thought
I do know that in a few days’ time
My tunic’s returned in condition prime
For this, I am charged a reasonable fee
I am become the lord of all laundry!
I suppose the matter of making a dime
Is something Washio will work out in time.
I stumbled frantic down the lane
Past shelter unwelcome and profane
“Hark!” I cry, “I just need a spot
“To sit and gather up my thought.
I want neither office nor abode
Just a squat with chair and commode.”
Whilst searching through the iTunes store
My eyes lit upon a major score
“Breather!” my hungry eyes devoured
“Renting rooms by the hour!”
No longer the domain of hotels sleazy
Now copping a room is Internet-easy
Wink wink nudge nudge now you be nice
You shan’t corrupt your room with sin or vice
“Sure thing, Breather,” I commend
Whilst entering room with my lady friend
Such sweet business we will conduct!
Breather cleaning crew, sorry, you’re fucked.
What sweet sounds drift from above?
Is it the voice of the one I love?
Ah! Look, here upon the iPhone screen
A booty text from my sweet colleen
But she is in the Mission though
And I atop shining Potrero
But my phone bestows on us a gift:
Some Prius-driving dork from Lyft
Into this stranger’s carriage I slip
And pray he speaks not this whole trip
It’s like a cab, but sketchier so
Who needs workers compensation though?
Forward! Advance, sharing economy!
To my lover hurry me!
And if I should die lest he be running late
I pray for my heirs to litigate.
One eve a lover whom I sent my nudes
Fell ill with a serious case of the rudes
Posting my privates far and wide
Driving me nearly to ex-icide
If only there was some way to share
Pics that would vanish into the air.
Aha! Snapchat offers features free
They claim doth protect my privacy
Don’t speak to me of screencaps or hacks
I want to believe my pics free of attack
A simpleton, I am comforted so
By the founder, a raging Stanford bro
And soon I am sure th’ love of my eyes
Will be a means to advertise.
4 comments:
You, my internet friend, are a literary genius. I am amazed.
Thanks, Ming! I haven't been called a literary genius since I got a poem into the school paper in 5th grade, so this is especially nice.
I won some kind of award for a poem I wrote in third grade. It was about how I wasn't that good at soccer or swim team, but then I practiced and tried hard again, and then soccer and swim team were a good friend. (#rhyming)
I never told anyone that my mom actually wrote it for me... until now.
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