This poem reminds me of how angry I got with my printer yesterday. When technology frustrates us humans, we tend to crave an emotional object to punish. Suddenly, my inanimate printer has tender feelings and if I yell at it and call it names, it will be so sorry it ever made me mad. This is how I explain my behaviour anyway. And I’ve seen other people do it too. Oh, but if objects really could care, what trouble we’d all be in! “Hall Light” circa age twenty for my online poetry course:

The hall light cracks, explodes, throws sparks,

The hall light, yes, sets house on fire.

The hall light, no, we can’t suspect,

For years it looked so innocent.

Foolish, I know, trusting so long

Objects enslaved would not rebel.

The hall light obeys no one now.