My Shredder

[Byron]

I am become binarial
Known to codes throughout the land
Each step I take is ethereal
With Word and with width of Band

My codes arrive with the mailman
Imprinted through bills and receipts
Cross-referenced into a grid plan
In fields of consumerate sheep

I balk at the data that is me
My shredder protects my ID
But codes that prove my existence
Are a piss-poor facsimile

I’ll join a movement to fight it
I’ll commit literary suicide
I’ll put myself through my shredder Only
rampant individualists need apply.

[lizzytysh]

This is hilarious in its truth and your witty way of getting to the encoded heart of the matter, Byron .

I avoided reading this link for a bit, for fear you were poetically announcing having gone on a shredding rampage of some of the beautiful and hilarious things you've written.

Relief. Relief. Laughter.


Love,
Lizzy

It's so GOOD to see you here, again... are you going with Margaret to Dublin?

[Byron]

are you going with Margaret to Dublin?

Alas and alack dear lady. I am unable to attend the soiree(s) in that fair city. Many is the time I have enjoyed the social side of Dublin and its hinterland.
My first visit there was when I was fourteen years old. I was put aboard the 'Cattle-Boat' at Liverpool Docks by my dad and crossed the Irish Sea, up on deck, with seemingly hundreds of priests. My uncle and cousins met me at the quayside in Dubln. I spent a very happy 6 weeks there during my school summer holidays. In fact when I got home, it was commented on that I had something of an Irish brogue in my speech.
I've been back many times since. I love the place and the people. However, the trip is not possible this time.
I'm glad you enjoyed the pome.

[lizzytysh]

You sound like me on Hydra... couldn't get in the sun. Couldn't go swimming ~ too far to try to walk in my condition at the time. Couldn't... couldn't... couldn't... . At least Margaret's going to Dublin and will be able to give you an authentic report.

Super, childhood times in Ireland by the sounds of it . You deserved it, dear sir . Was there some kind of priest convention going on?

Yes, indeedy, loved your pome .


~ Lizzy

[Byron]

No priest convention, but just the regulars from Eire who traveled back and to between Rome and their homeland on holidays. No cheap flights in those days. They had to cross Europe by bus or train and then get the ferries to England. Ride north to the coast and then the ferries from Liverpool to Dublin.
The 'cattle-boat' was a regular service across the Irish Sea transporting the beasts on overnight ferries. The smell was 'ripe.' The noise was constant, and staying out on deck was the best way to avoid both, as well as being the cheapest fare. The cattle were landed or loaded at Birkenhead, which is on the opposite bank of the River Mersey from Liverpool. Us passengers took second place. The young cattle were taken to Eire to provide the milk for Irish Butter etc. and later in their lives they were carried back again to make meat pies. There was no sentiment in farming in those days.