At your fingertips

Wish I were a CD
ringed on your forefinger;

you could play out my tracks
at your whim.

You could figure out
the looming sessions,

our impending meetings
in future Springs.

Inadvertently, like cryptic Viruses,
my doggerels could enter
your secured system, and multiply

"Drat! This miserable thing has hanged the gadget!"

Life would get stuck
with your tinkering.

Would you then install
our windows anew?