Ho Ho Ho

My need to make fun of technology arises of course from a deep and ineradicable fear of it.

I am amazed;
I can't believe my eyes.
My PC doesn't recognise
This well-known phrase.
It underlines the last two 'Ho's'!
Surely every child must know
And love the famous 'Ho Ho Ho',
Or so you would suppose.

My software's obviously never heard
Of Santa, so it's missed
The point. "This is some arbitrary list,"
My spell-check mutters,
"Inexplicably composed
Of thrice repeated Ho's.
At any rate," it utters,
"This phrase I can't accept.
It's obviously inept."

Or maybe, maybe it suspects
Something devious,
Even mischievous?
Machines are not paranoid
Of course, but could my PC
Be displaying anxiety?
What one doesn't understand
Can cause alarm,
And ruffle maybe even techno-calm.

"Who or what are
These Ho's," it seems to ask,
"Could they be sinister masks
Designed to hide
Criminal identities?
Do angels or deities
Walk the earth disguised
As Chinese tourists?
A group of three or four is
Probably ominous;
Are three Ho's a code
For Armageddon?
Am I going to explode?"
Loads of dire possibilities
Rear up their heads:
"Are we safe in our beds
From this devilish trio?

But this is ridiculous. No, no, no,
It's just a phrase, this 'Ho Ho Ho'.
But what does it mean? It must
Mean something that I
Am programmed to identify.

Be still, my overheating
Hardware, and apply
Your faultless circuitry.
Simple analysis
Will find the clue,
Technology always wins through.

Well then: Is the first Ho
The leader of the Viet Cong?
Does the second belong
Under gardening tools?
And is the third Ho
To be found in Plymouth? No,
Somehow I don't think so."

Oh, poor computer,
You're still not cute
Enough to understand
Everything; for not everything
Is logically planned.
And that, by me, is just grand.

© David Collins 20th June 2012