Autocorrect: A Poem

I type on tinky keyboards,

The letters cut to size,

To meet pitiful proportions.

I type one thing,

My keyboard another

And am hunted.

Am hunted and hounded.

By words which change under clumsy fingers.

Words changing under clever software.

Yet clever is not nearly clever enough.

I’m left hissing.

Am left hissing and spitting.

Cursing and shouting and face-palming.

Damn you Autocorrect!

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