Keys, keys.
Wherefore art thou, keys?
When last my hands caressed thy cool metal, thy humble lanyard dangling ‘gainst my heaving breast, we departed together upon an Uber chariot.
Together, we ventured forth into the world, and together, I presumed, we should return.
And then –
Oh, heart of hearts, sweet faithful keys, I can scarcely move my lips to words form the words –
You were gone.
Wherefore art thou, keys?
I cried unto Uber, inside whose carriage did last we touch.
Uber, that bleak abyss wherein desperate pleas fall upon withered and unhearing ears known as customer support.
Once, twice, thrice and yea more, I did beseech them.
Each request met with silence more profound than the grave.
O, woe is me!
To have lost what I have most loved, to see what I see.
Pray, you remember, Uber most foul.
Then –
Lo!
A message appeared.
“We can confirm the driver found your missing item.”
Joy burst forth!
The angels sang!
Surely ‘tis an end to my heartache and the thousand unnatural shocks my flesh is heir to, a consummation devoutly to be wished.
But alas, more days of endless misery and pining, for I cannot call this Uber driver.
A messenger called Dinesh or Shehzad tosses flowers onto your grave:
“We assure you that driver will contact you. Your extended patience and understanding are greatly appreciated.”
Bah!
Perhaps my patience might extend in longing for you, sweet keys, but it is o’er weighed by my desire to hold you again.
Return to me, sweet keys! Return to me that which unlocketh both home and heart.
Let not light see my black and deep desires to cast Uber into the deepest oubliette.
Till you return my love keys to me.
***
This blasphemous poem is entirely the fault of Scott Walker (the Happiness Bandit). He made me do it. (I regret nothing.)
Yours in love and play,
Steph 🐲❤️
