A Cyber-Curse on Bank Managers

Your computer screen will turn blue when asked for details of my account.

With every re-boot you’ll feel annoyance rise, and frustration mount.

On the fourth attempt, a fatal error message will appear on your screen

And data will begin to ooze like infected cyber pus from your machine.

Just before the meltdown, as you’re gabbing about golf with your favorite millionaire,

You assure him that with this new system his money’s in the greatest care.

And then, the data vault containing me and a squillion others goes poof.

Your life flashes before your eyes and your blood pressure soars towards the roof.

The cataclysmic cave-in at the epicentre has the IT guys in a dither,

And you watch your geeks’ expressions of obtuse brilliance crumble and wither.

They scramble to the servers, nervously checking for capacity,

While ancient hard copies of crises manuals are dusted off and read with vexed voracity.

It’s backed-up, don’t worry, it’s all in the cloud, you’ll be whining,

But with a cyber-curse you’ll discover that this cloud has no silver lining.

My overdraft, which you insist was becoming a problem of momentous proportions

Disintegrates–along with your favorite millionaires’ fortunes.

And as the cyber-curse obliterates the pages of history files that reiterate my debt,

One final paroxysm of purging delivers the most disastrous blow yet.

It’s Armageddon worse than any natural disaster or extra-terrestrial invasion.

And when the smoke clears, we are all equal in the equation.

The cyber-curse, having repaid my debt and every penny of interest owing

Will do the same for sufferers like me–leaving nil balances showing.

But what of your millionaires and their electronic riches?

You’ll explain, just before hanging yourself with your Hugo Boss tie…

that all new systems have glitches.