Those sneaks at Microsoft have been at it again,
Updating my PC as they do now and then.
"Updating" they call it, but who really knows?
Maybe they're auctioning my info to pros,
Who'll sell me, spy on me, and make my brain mush,
And direct me to vote for another dumb lush.
.
No, this time around it's my email they've changed,
And I begin to think these folks are deranged,
For Outlook, the program, has gone back in time,
Back to the format it had used in its prime,
With a few more doodads and shortcuts, it's true,
And curvier icon with the same shades of blue.
.
Back to the last version -- they call that improve?
That's not so much as a lateral move.
What about some color, a dash of AI?
I now look at a list of emails neck-high,
Thousands of names in a long linear mass,
But try searching for one: no magnifying glass!
.
Maybe those programmers have finally met match:
A program they can't much improve or up-ratch'.
Would that were the case with the few that I use,
Like Windows itself that my life does abuse.
New versions come out and my hard disk deride,
Bully my system, which commits systemcide.
.
So like a widower I marry anew,
Now a young sweet thing that can everything chew,
Goes tearing through Windows beeping and flashing,
Though I know soon enough her teeth will stop gnashing,
New versions will enmesh her, gray her great flair,
And alas, make me move to my next PC affair.
