I Owe You A Thank You

To say a keyboard is amongst the most important of tools for the author, budding or experienced, would be an understatement.

My fingers have flown and paused on the keys once, twice, thrice; truly, I have lost track of the time spent.

Oh, the stories I'm sure it would tell, or truthfully, the complaints and frustrations it would spew.

Woes of so-called abuse, germs that linger, crumbs entrapped in what seems like caverns; I've tried to clean so it felt like new.

However, loyal it remains, always there for every tale, every rhyme I wish for the world to read.

I should tell it thank you more often; alas, I often leave those words left unsaid.

But one ordinary day, as the leaves died and plants bent with every gust of the frigid air, a most unfortunate event occurred.

I happened upon a sight of my recent musical journey in a honored spot; let's just say I was quite surprised.

My body became so filled with excitement, I jumped up from my chair with a great lack of distance perception.

A hand hit a bottle almost empty; I barely noticed as the bottle attempted to remain upright like a solider at attention.

The brown carbonated liquid trickled out, searching for any nook and cranny to fall into.

With horror fueling my veins, I ran for cleaning supplies; why couldn't I have completed a simple task from my mental queue?

I wiped and sprayed frantically, hoping the keyboard would survive and not be left sticky.

Thankfully my partner in writing made it through; sticky keys in the literal sense would have been tricky.

It appears I owe it more words than thank you.

I'm sorry too.

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Word Count: 285

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This poem is based on a real life event. Yes, I spilled some soda on my keyboard recently and I ran around like a manic to make sure it was clean. The things we put our computers through.