So I was trying to text my sweetheart
About having a date for Valentine’s
But the smart-spelling feature on my phone
Wouldn’t cooperate. It kept turning
“Valentines” into the word “Takeover.”
It made me wonder if the programmer
Had been left sitting alone at a Starbucks
Clutching a dozen roses for a girl
Who never could work out how to tell him
Face-to-face: It’s over – it’s me, not you.
And in his humiliation and fear
That every lover would abandon him
As soon as he had opened up his heart
He threw the roses to the barista
And walked two hours across town in the rain.
Back in the computer lab, he removed
Every hint of love from the software
He was perfecting for use in cell phones,
And replaced it with a subtle warning
That romance is a form of takeover.
Meanwhile the barista went home and dreamed
About the man who gave her the roses
Praying that he would come back in again
So she could get his number and text him:
Thank you for the best valentine ever.
The final turn, so lovely. A great glimpse into feminine longing.