This Is The Modern World

First, you’re
the broken drawer
that chirps when I pull
hard and and fast.
The back falls off
and spills the junk inside
down into the limbo
behind.  The thing I want most,
what drew me to reach for the pull
in the first place, is stuck
back there beyond my reach —

how dare you laugh
at me, lie there in mocking pieces
that scold me for an inability
to get at it? 

Then, you’re the file,
corrupted and infirm
on my drive.  Not working,
not even a little, sitting there
as a reminder of functionality:

how dare you
sit and spin endlessly
pretending that something
is going to happen?

Then, you’re
the viral video
being seen by all the curious idlers
on the planet.  You’re caught
by accident doing something ridiculous
like loving me, protesting
to anyone who’ll listen
that it was all a mistake
and you’re not really like that.

How dare you
squawk like this, as if
you didn’t hand me the camera
and tell me how to push the buttons?

Finally, you’re every day
full of errors that leave me
trying to figure out
what went wrong,
when what went wrong
is that the day began and progressed
and aged and ended as it always does.

W’ere in the modern world
with its overabundance
and instant access.  How dare you
accuse me of anachronism,
suggesting that there is agency
and cause and effect
in my stumbling
through it? 

It’s all new.
Neither of us has it locked down yet.