On a perfectly normal Saturday,
the kind where normal humans
do normal human things, I log online
to check my bank account for fraud,
then perhaps read about the many frauds
making news these days.
When my computer asks me to prove
I'm human, it's perfectly normal,
like singing Take Me out to the Ballgame
or blowing out the candles on a birthday cake;
the puzzle is rather frustrating, I'll admit,
but one can't be too careful these days.
And when I'm labeled a bot, well,
what can I say? I haven't been myself of late,
everything dull and mechanistic.
An impulse to smash the computer rises, then dies:
I picture a swarm of revenge-seekers,
and one can't be too careful these days.
