The Email Of The Specious
I thought that I was a survivor
I thought I was strong as a bull
Until they took swabs of saliva
The moment my in-box was full
I thought I was tickety-boo
When my wireless mouse gave a click
But now I don’t think I’ll get through
In fact I am mentally sick
My heart-rate has soared through the ceiling
My legs cannot stand on themselves
I’m starting to get the odd feeling
That my emails are sent me by elves
Or by gremlins or orcs or by magic
It’s a plot to dismantle my brain
I can’t concentrate and it’s tragic
I believe I’m inane and insane
Please help me, my real name is Michael
I am one of your elders and betters
I’ve been caught by a constant e-cycle
And I keep on inventing new letters
I’ve been keeping an O in a tin box
To recover the thrills of my youth
But now there’s an I in my inbox
And I’m banjaxed, to tell you the truth
I wanted an A subdivided
I wanted the top to be 1
But the emails I get have decided
That an 8 would far better fun
They’ve used N, F, Q, V in their time
And I’ve used up E, B and C
The emails won’t give me some spare time
The world feels like Scrabble to me
Perhaps it’s because I’m a Tory
That emails have caused me distress
I’d fall on my sword but how gory –
Besides there’s enough of a mess
My cortisol levels are crazy
The alphabet spins in my head
These emails are making me hazy –
Am I become teacher? Or dead?
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