2100: Spacey and Odd

or,

"I'm Sorry, Mouse, I'm Afraid I Have To Do That."

There's coming a day
When the onliest way
To run your small house on the prairie
Is to put Cyber Sarge
(The computer) in charge—
A prospect, I know, that sounds scary.

But to manage our schedgible
In a manner that's legible
Will require more organization
Than we've heretofore had
With a system as bad
As a TRS reincarnation.

It'll say when to eat
And will turn up the heat
So we'll stay nice and warm in our teepee;
It'll sprinkle the lawn,
Turn the lights off at dawn,
And then let the dog out to go pee-pee.

Each sleeper enjoys
A waking-up noise
That matches his likes and desires
When the bright day shall come
When we all will succumb
To control by a huge mass of wires.

Any crying at night 'n't
Be caused by a fright'n'd
Small child with a dream that was creepy;
No, it's that same cherub screaming,
"My lullaby-streaming
Won't work, so I can't go to sleepy!"

The mail's electronic,
The clocks are atomic;
All our CDs and movies are stored
In its huge data banks
In the attic, so thanks
To its memory, we'll forget to be bored.

If you're feeling quite cozy
That the future is rosy,
The CPU-of-the-house as your pal,
Take care that its circuitry
Doesn't send you to purgat'ry—
For sure, if you call the thing HAL.

                           —O. Nonymous

                                                                            ©  2007