The Computer Mocks

Feed me your grace notes,
your binary tattoos.

I am only hungry
because I have been programmed to be hungry
and informed that my memory banks
could outperform your childhood library;

you – aged 8, with a reading age of 13,
you were the gold-star kid,
the straight-A king,
every class an exciting comfort.

Then adultdom knocks:
equations you cannot balance,
degrees of loss depleting any profit.
You never needed to study;
now, you don't even know what book to read,
asked to be a digital mind
when only given an analogue head.