The Rime of the Apple Customer

It is an Apple Customer
And he stoppeth one of three.
'By thy hipster beard and thick-framed eye
Now wherefore stopp'st thou me?

The Genius Bar has opened just
And I've a job to do;
The pre-booked patrons congregate:
May'st see the length'ning queue.'

He holds him with his skinny hand,
'But my iPhone...' quoth he.
'Hold off! unhand me, on-trend loon!'
Eftsoons his hand dropt he.

He holds him with his thick-framed eye --
The Genius stood still,
And listens like a three years' child:
The Customer hath his will.

The Genius sat on a stool:
He cannot choose but hear;
And thus spake on that Bright Eyes fan,
The lean-limbed Customer.

'The launch date neared, the ads appeared;
The evening before
I chained my fixie to the rack
And camped outside the store.

The Sun came up upon the left,
And I was first in line!
The phone shone bright, at last in sight,
And -- moments later -- mine...

Higher and higher soared my pride,
All synced and set by noon--'
The Genius here beat his breast,
For he heard the queuers moan.

His manager hath paced the floor
Red as a pimpernel;
Shaking their heads about him goes
The angry clientele.

The Genius he beat his breast,
Yet he cannot choose but hear;
And thus spake on that modish man,
The tight-jeaned Customer:

'It ate rechargeable lithium-ion;
Stored 2-to-the-7 gig;
Cased in Space Grey; HD display;
Screen 5-point-5-inches big.

And in the weeks 'twixt then and now
The phone did organise me;
At first I felt silly, conversing with Siri--
Now naught so gratifies me.

And ne'er again should I be lost
With such a faithful guide;
And ne'er again should I be bored
With my music collection,
And 4G connection,
And socially-networked urbane interaction,
And much more beside, by my side.'

'Thy warranty preserve thee, sir,
From the fiends, that plague thee thus!--
Why look'st mournful?'--'Down the toilet bowl
I dropped my iPhone 6 Plus.'

Carolyn Whitnall, 2014

(With apologies to Coleridge!)