POEM: Witness for the Prosecution

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By Saturday, Feb 10 Arts & Entertainment

The screen

has been waiting

for you

 

to bring it

to life after

sleeping.

 

A single touch

arouses. When

finger-tips tap,

 

letters appear,

become

words, sentences.

 

You sit back

to review.

Is this what you

 

intended to say?

The nerd who,

till now,

 

has served you well

cannot tell,

but does have

 

a memory of

what you wrote

and deleted,

 

as well as of

stealthy visits

to shady sites.

 

Should your

deadpan

amanuensis,

 

on call at all

hours,

be called on

 

to testify,

why should the slave

not squeal?


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