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.

They’re incompatible.

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.

And so,

My computer can shut the fuck up.

Lane D.     6/24/15