This most recent nonsense comes with eights,
all eight of them along a pretty row
like pretty maids. See how they grow and grow,
to mushroom outwards on towards our mates,
our friends and foes and family, colleagues,
vicars' wives and, somehow, total strangers
who may recklessly dismiss the dangers
and reject these absurd viral intrigues
by declining to send further on such junk
ideas of how to get rich quick, find love
lose weight, gain friends or all of the above
through schemes devised by some bored punk
who sits alone in some dark, teenage place;
who knows nobody hears us scream in space.
My friend Liana forwarded one of her periodic viral e.mails. Send it on to eight good people and within 4 days you'll receive money. Delete it, the message goes on, and you'll be poor throughout 2010. I'd rather live in poverty than hit the forward button. But I owe a debt to Liana; half an hour after reading her e.mail I had this poem written. It may not be much of a poem but it's more or less a sonnet. Practice makes perfect and this is my first creation of the new year. So thanks Miss Kong.
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