My word processor tells me I’m in “Compatibility Mode” and I’m annoyed.
I never asked to be compatible. I never needed it. In fact, here I am typing up
My poetry—which is incompatible with what I am supposed to be doing–
So how dare this computer insinuate…..
Compatible means: “likely to have a good relationship because of being similar”
What if I am similar to nobody? Would that compatibility be falseness
And if so—what is the cure for that falseness
When the truth is that, some people just aren’t compatible-
Some people are like a computer that thinks differently
Because when you press the # key, you get @
Some people like to put chilli sauce on their eggs in the morning
Some people like to sleep outdoors, and wake up with the sun
Some people sleep until noon because they played jazz all night
Some people like lemon in their coffee—no really. I’ve met them.
Some people can’t cry. Some people never laugh. Some people can’t write or read.
But who says they’re wrong for being so?
I think there should be a city called Compatibility
And it can be where all the beige-wearing, Kia-driving, sold-my-guitar-now-I-sell-insurance people go
Where someone who is an Artist, Rebel, Free Thinker, or Sage can go to hide
To fit in, to white-wash their colors
I think this world has a compatibility mode already.
It’s called School, it’s called Work, it’s called Middle Class America
Where being a musician is impractical
Being in love is too expensive
Being a kid is medicated
Being passionate is frowned-upon
Being a quitter is expected
Following the herd and being exterminated is
The way to make friends—
Where you can count your years until you die
Count your pension when you’re 35
Can’t be different, can’t be loud,
Can’t be weird and can’t be proud
Come Live in Compatibility – where you’ll shoot yourself eventually.
I refuse to live there.
My computer can shut the fuck up.
Lane D. 6/24/15