Perspective of an Abused Keyboard

The weather is always hail;

Long, slender fingers keep 

Hammering endlessly 

On my soft, unprotected head.

From dawn to dusk,

This is all I feel—

Until it stops,

And the sun,

My savior from heaven,

Rotates downward,

Bringing the end

Of light.

My limp body thrown

Vertical, horizontal, sideways.

A plaything,

Of this monster. 

Until the sky reopens,

A giant’s cry

Bellows from above,

And it starts to rain.

Salty, hot droplets go

“Plop, plop, plop,”

As those fingers,

Tap away on my

Poor little head.

“Tap, tap, tap,” 

“Sob, sob, sob,” 

“Why, why, why.”

The rustle of a page 

Is followed by

the click of a pen.

An hour of silence 

Passes by my circuits, 

Until a horrid,

Terrible scream 

Echoes from above.

A fist crashes down;

Defeat permeates the air.

Incoherent mumbling,

Clouds my sensors.

“I can’t do this anymore,”

“I hate this class,”

“Screw my life.”

The screen is slammed down,

My sky goes black. . . 

Forever.