Brass & Grime

The screen went dark, a shrug of pixels

then nothing. Just the whine of the fan

before it too, gave out.

Another glitch, another ghost in the machine.

My fingers, restless, found the key

cool brass against the thumb,

turned it, slow, until the gears inside

caught hold, a gritting, solid bite.

The tick, tick, tick,

not from a speaker,

but metal, actual time

ground out, defiant. A small thing,

this refusal. A quiet,

stubborn grind.