Something’s beeping ‘round my desk,
but what it is I cannot tell.
It’s not the printer or the FAX,
neither phone, nor front door bell.
The camera button’s turned to “off,”
the lap top lies in blackest sleep,
calculator screen is dark,
and from my cell there’s not a peep.
The smoke alarm is quite content,its little light shines brightest green.
No message saying, “You’ve got mail.”
(I start to mutter words obscene.)
I worry now that Pablo parrot
(he whose talking does excel)
will memorize it and become
the Green Amazon from hell.
Infernal beeping gets to me.
I worry that I will not sleep,
because that noise is so entrenched
way down in my brain so deep.
I gnash my teeth, look everywhere,
But cannot find the evil source
Of noise that’s driving me insane,
(My swearing now has got me hoarse).
This reminds me of a poem
I once read so long ago,
and people watched its passing glow:
“Twinkle, twinkle, little Sputnik,
(Forgot this line, my mem’ry’s trick).
How the hell can people sleep,
when all night long go “beep, beep, beep.”
--by Gullible (who should be doing other things right now)
Oct. 11, 2009