We have this new computer charting and it comes with about 50 tiny, (font 8) icons, that look like little bugs crawling across the screen. Thus, I had to write the iconic poem.

Icon

Icon not understand
Nor fathom what they mean,
All those silly little symbols
Running circles on my screen,
The experts call it my PAL
But it ain’t no friend of mine,
A pal is strong and helpful
And this one has no spine.

Icon not discern the meaning
Icon not discover a solution,
Too many icons running around
That deserve an execution,
Icon hardly wait the day
When we finish up this caper,
There will be a mass revolt
And we will welcome back the paper.

fibril_late
7/9/09
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

I wrote "Icon"; then I slept. I woke up and wrote "Yukon"..........................must have been the Boss invading my sleep.

Yukon

"Yukon", she repeated
"Yukon, do what I say",
Treat these icons with respect
All night and all day,
Because that's our new language
Our lexicon, our lingo,
Get on the boat and behave
You, pestilent gringo.

Whether she said that exactly
I can not be sure,
But if I want to get paid
I better find me a cure,
To my symbolic sepsis
This agonizing irritation,
Or yukon bet my next boat trip
Might be a smoldering cremation.

Fibril_late;
7/9/09