THE SYSTEM CRASHES

A virus infiltrates; disguised
as resumé or compliment
evades IT and subdivides

seeding email with attachments
that when clicked transmit contagion.
Hunched in cubicles, we repent

our sins and curse, minor demons
unyoked from large intelligence,
terrified we’ll be abandoned

to our thoughts, the system’s silence
like a parent’s disapproval.
We pound keys, demanding entrance,

as if that alphabet might spell
some code to reconnect and free
us with the easeful chime of mail.

It’s killing productivity;
forbidden cigarettes are used.
Without the web’s authority

we buzz like unhived bees, confused.
A few get through on cells to know
what’s happened, strobe-illumined news

shifting between light and shadow,
chaotic rumors of attack.
Emerging in the street below

we orient toward home and walk,
squinting in the glare, revenants
from other lives, no looking back.