Who am I? Ever-present entry code, cursor blinking, I forget, again. Auto-fill takes over, helping me complete a prior version of myself, but no dice. Sensing my lapse, Passkey pops open suggesting I thought ahead, storing a former me, but sadly, only blanks. Admitting defeat, I must reset, a deep sigh, more Me’s to remember or keep on the unprotected file I shouldn’t save. Then a choice is presented and I can’t bear the cryptic combination my machine suggests. What part of SZ*12Hsbrzgy26! feels like the key to me? So I set a new password that won’t be the last, a small twist on something old, confirm my new code via text and prove I’m not a bot, at least not yet. Heather M. Coughlin (2024)
workLIT Memo: My poetry coach suggested this title might warrant an entire collection. I’m thinking and working on that idea.