Tell me my poem rocks?
well, if it sucks tell me it sucks...but i hope you tell me it rocks.
http://www.loserturdmafia.com
from 
JoeUser Forums
JoeUser Forums
Tech Savvy
The computer says error in its digital voice
with a hint of mock sympathy.
Unable to install proper drivers,
the computer informs me.
I should stand up, walk away,
take a drive to clear my head.
What Dad did when Mom nagged too much,
got in the station wagon and drove,
treating problems like rattling under the hood;
it can’t be that bad until you break down, he would say.
I heard the rattling for so long
I thought lives ran better that way.
A metallic ding followed by too many warnings
tell me the computer doesn’t agree
with what I want it to do;
Like all teenage boys from my neighborhood,
rebelling against their remaining parent.
Summers of stealing baseball cards from the drug store
only to give them to my brother.
The crinkle of foil wrappers in my pocket
as I climbed the infinite number of stairs to my room.
And out came the wooden spoon,
our surrogate father. I do this because
I love you. I told my computer as I deleted files,
molding it to the image of what my computer should be;
only to find past actions of mine were to blame
for the malfunction, as my computer likes to put it.
The computer says error in its digital voice
with a hint of mock sympathy.
Unable to install proper drivers,
the computer informs me.
I should stand up, walk away,
take a drive to clear my head.
What Dad did when Mom nagged too much,
got in the station wagon and drove,
treating problems like rattling under the hood;
it can’t be that bad until you break down, he would say.
I heard the rattling for so long
I thought lives ran better that way.
A metallic ding followed by too many warnings
tell me the computer doesn’t agree
with what I want it to do;
Like all teenage boys from my neighborhood,
rebelling against their remaining parent.
Summers of stealing baseball cards from the drug store
only to give them to my brother.
The crinkle of foil wrappers in my pocket
as I climbed the infinite number of stairs to my room.
And out came the wooden spoon,
our surrogate father. I do this because
I love you. I told my computer as I deleted files,
molding it to the image of what my computer should be;
only to find past actions of mine were to blame
for the malfunction, as my computer likes to put it.
