Saturday, March 28, 2020

Virtually Fashionable

This is a poem I wrote in 1996, but it has become more relevant recently, so I thought this might be a good time to place a copy on my rhyming blog.

It wasn't all that long ago,
When first began the cyber age,
That meetings held by video,
For business folk, were all the rage.

At first, from office, clad in suits,
These scheduled meetings took their place,
But, once this method set down roots,
New fashions came and changed its face.

The first, least daring, change of style
Was dressing only for the view:
Above the waist, a suit; meanwhile,
Below were jeans, and slippers, too.

Then, one fine day, some hacker dude,
Inspired to program, did his best
And wrote a system to conclude
The need to bother getting dressed.

By filtering his shape and size
Through programs to enhance and change,
He brought the world a great surprise:
Computer clothes, both cool and strange.

Of course, the ease this soft-wear brought
Made for an overnight success;
Soon compu-fashions had been bought
By all as standard business dress.

Now, fashions come and fashions go,
And electronic threads increased
The speed with which those "in the know"
Pursued this enigmatic beast.

The Internet's a funny place
Where things can change with frequent ease.
'Twas thus the place the fashion race
Occurred, the public's tastes, to please.

Each night, new fashions came on-line,
Too rapidly to check them out.
That what they wore was only fine,
Folks had no time to feel a doubt.

In retrospect, it seems quite odd
That we had felt a faith, so blind,
That programs which obscured the bod
Could never have been undermined.

It happened on a busy day
Amid our meetings, calls and shows:
A virus hit, to our dismay,
Exposing us, from heads to toes.

The world has never been the same,
Since that odd day when we all saw
That politicians, too, have shame,
As do all those who bring us awe.

Of course, the rest is history:
The great who fell, the small who rose,
For much of power's mystery
Was stripped, when shown without its clothes.

'Tis true, recovery was swift,
But since that day, no clever bug
Can strip us of that special gift
Which keeps the great from acting smug.

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