Sidekick, licked

Oh woe is me
oh woe times three,
as sad as a very sad thing I be--
my laptop mouse expired--he
clicks no more the links
that pleaseth me.
My scrolling finger
scrolls no more
on the dial that such a scrolling's for,
but darts about uncertainly
on touch pad that touches not
the soul of me.

Oh Amazon delivery,
restore my mousy reverie
by furnishing outside my door
a box like that two years before
that brought me my plum-berry
Belkin jewel,
a most trustworthy blogger's tool,
that copied, pasted, deleted and
linked
more words of mine than were e'er inked.

With red-light gleam and
worn-out hue, the cursor moves
for now, for you, but
in mere days you will be through
when another newer
mouse comes to--

And yet in a box you may well rest,
the buggy nature of electronics in their test
being felt--my $8 prize
perhaps a dud, will render you a
momentary stud, in at least connecting,
and without much jerking, permitting the cursor to
glide--almost working--

Not much, alas, to crow about,
but I'm not quite ready to do without
a thing that that served me fairly well.
Remember that ungodly spell--
the Jack and Coke keyboard incident?
When Mouse and I were left,
keyboard bereft,
to conquer the Web's ebb and flow
and even hunt and pecked some posts
with on-screen keys?

Moments like these keep you in
my memories, my USB-connected
squire.

You helped me interface
the world.

You'll see a rubbish tip inside a week.