Despair

My keyboard’s very dusty on my desk

There’s bits of fluff and specs from god knows when

All stuck between the keys where you can’t get

To with your fingertips or with your pen.

I wish I had one of those things, you know,

Those tiny hoovers that you sometimes see.

I’d run the nozzle up and down the rows

Between the numberpad and function keys.

But then, I could just turn it upside down

And slap the back and jiggle it about…

I’ve seen that done before, but then, I’ve found

The desk gets dirtied when the dust falls out,

A grey duvet of dead skin cells and hair,

The sheddings of your keystruck love affair.