PS Cottier

Princess of Blogs

Each night she updated; edited pending comments,

entered scripture of text with exclamatory glee.

In her room she lived quiet, but energetically,

lap-top dancing, fingers quick clicking castanets.

Her pictures were immaculate, draped over chairs, 

or hanging with her coterie, smiles like lesser stars.

Reshaping her target, tags and links in side-bars,

she monitored daily hits, archer of loaded air.

And when the virus came, a little worm of strife,

that annoying addition that is always so hungry,

(for it must eat each Apple core or sturdy square PC)

she froze as well; still as Lot’s eye-assaulted wife.

She stared at the locked screen, immobile and blank-eyed,

then wept for the eve that her perfect blog just died.

P.S. Cottier