Fakespeare by Bogdan Dragos

he sat on his knees

before the

bed

by the window

and tapped swiftly

on the screen

of the cheap tablet he’d

bought second hand

It had only a few apps

and the one

he used was

the notes app

It’s hell having to tap

on a screen

to write

but the alternative was

scratching words with

a pen on

paper

and those couldn’t be sent

anywhere these days

He had to get with

the times

At night he kept dreaming

of a device that

would turn one’s thoughts

into written words.

The future will

bring that for sure, but

for now he couldn’t even

afford

a small laptop

It’s hell having the

words in

you, ready to blaze out,

and not being able to

offer them the means

Oh, he

was frustrated, alright

And behind him a

woman’s voice

kept asking ‘when’

“When what?”

he snapped…