Frustration

I can feel frustration rising,
it starts within my core.
What number do I press
For ‘I can’t stand anymore?’

For 15 loathsome minutes
you have held me in a queue,
have played me dreadful music.
What have I ever done to you?

Oh yes ... now I remember ...
paid loads of money for supplies.
When I tell you that they don’t work
you express complete surprise.

I move from queue to holding pattern
depending on the question posed.
With every passing moment
we’re all becoming less composed.

Defensiveness inflames me,
pat excuses get my goat.
As a chip computes my options
resolution seems remote.

Perhaps God’s my only option
with all His power and all His might.
When computers seize the upper hand
He can forfeit all their light.