Delicate, broken hard drive
You hold my secrets to your chest as if they were your secrets,
but they are not.
O how you taunt and beguile,
wily little hard drive.
Holding my hope in your clutches,
sashaying through the mist,
dancing your spirit dance
with all the shit I was working on
I would smack you in the crotch but it wouldn’t hurt, I hope someone in Mac heaven steals your hard drive, too.

-Composed last evening, published at the suggestion of my golf teacher, Mr. Pak.