- a poem by your favorite cyber-hooligan.
We line up like fools en route
Through winter’s deep morass.
We try to board a train to work
Just let us tap that pass.
We call and wait – and wait some more.|
And YESSS! A voice of humans!
But the shining light is of no help;
It’s not too many lumens.
We got our cute new Ventras
Loaded them with cash!
And then as if some wizard
Sent all of it to trash.
We wonder where our funds did go.
Our brains all but congeal.
"We’re sorry we can’t help you...
Our policy’s to steal."
The cards don’t read; the gates don’t turn
The funds don’t transfer over.
For all the time we’ve spent on hold
We could have hired a chauffeur.
What does "Ventra" even mean?
The stomach of a bug?
The insect kind? Or software?
Or psychedelic drug?
We line up like fools at rest
Inert like noble gasses.
For we can’t get to where we go
We just can’t tap those passes.
We crowd up by the turnstile
Far past critical mass.
But Ventra Gandalf screams to us:
YOU SHALL NOT TAP THAT PASS!