Overheard at Occupy Princeton:
Protestor: Does anybody know how to work a computer?
I call you my friend, Mr. Python.
A Poem.
Always a little better than he pretends
And a little worse than he wishes, my friend,
Saying words that should be written down,
Displaying a smile that is often a frown.
As soon as the words strolled
Across the doctor’s lips,
She realized the cold waste -
When Nelson dies,
All two hundred and six
Of my broken bones
Will ache for you.