Laptop is buggered.
Now he can't access the Universe,
spilt a bottle of water of the keyboard
an oil spill all over the thing.
Took it to the local PC repair,
a fat man, named Sion, is taking a look.
Says diagnosis by the end of the week,
of course, he already knows the diagnosis:
It's fucked. It needs fixed. It needs a Doctor.
Of course, Sion is the expert and can articulate
the finer machinations of the damage done
and the repairs required. He knows the electronics,
but Jesus...does he know what's on his harddrive?
He soon will, no doubt, gulping down a coffe,
hunched over the thing with his screwdrivers
or wielding new metals to old plastics
or whatever it is he'll need to to do make it breathe.
His throat locks a little as he considers the contents
of the image files, the video stash, the suggestive poetry.
The homo-erotica, hard manhood, wash board stomach,
the twink, the teenage boy in the perfect Spanish Son...
He's getting hot and carried away just thinking about them now.
But will he get carried away in the white coat just for looking at them?
In all seriousness, it is only gay erotica, but Jesus, how embarassing,
Sion will find a picture of his lover smiling out on the desktop wallpaper.
If he searches the images, he'll find a host of his brother's in the skud,
penises pointing the finger at him, like some kind of shock tactic homo seduction.
Sion said it should be diagnosed in a few days. God save him. When he returns to get , and Sion's eyes search for some evidence of his queerdom, or their eyes connect, Sion knowing his lust, and his eyes knowing the discovery of the secret.
Will he say, that'll be 80 pounds to fix, or, the police are here to talk with you, or will a frown of digust and a stern brow, accompany a quick hand over of the laptop, while saying - I'm sorry, there's nothing to be done. The hard-drives OK, but I suggest you buy a new laptop. God help him, poor man, humiliated by his homosexuality, nervous to return to the shop, the male staff all staring, probably searched through everything, looking for something inappropriate, for something vile, something to confirm that queers are a shop o perverts.
Will it be the quiet civilsed return? Here you go Sir. Everything is sorted. Please do come again. No worries. Pleasure to have your business. Come in for a free check up any time. We'll he shall find out.
Writing and Random Creativity Workshops 
