Text messaging: a eulogy

Text Please!


Don't you just love to text?
Only morons in shacks
fiddle round with a fax.

The ultimate fix
is here with a mix
of the phone and the clicks
on a back-lighted pad
that predicts and corrects
not to mention spell checks.

It's not just a fad
it's a leap for mankind.

You would find
that if Oedipus Rex
had been able to text
he'd have foiled the hex
that blighted his mind
and rendered him blind.

We can message at random
with merry abandon.
You know Posh and Becks?
I could send them a text,
‘cept they're probably ex-
-directory, to avoid being vexed
with millions of texts.


The effects can be mixed:
though your digits get slick
it don't get us fit
‘cos your pecs don’t get flexed
while we sit on our bums
just twiddling our thumbs
updating our chums.

But who cares? I just love it.
If you don’t, then shove it.
If you think you’re above it
no camera detects
your refusal to text
there’s no law (Latin: “Lex”)
to insist that you do.
It’s just up to you.
Don't want to? That's fine
It's your loss, not mine.

But to us addicts of text
it’s much better than sex.

© Richard Lawson
October 5, 2009