The toaster shoots a burnt slice,
Straight up to the freshly painted ceiling,
While a washing machine spins and whirls,
Around the room like an electric broom.
There is a ghost in the machine,
It can be felt and is seldom ever seen.
The laptop re-starts in the night,
The old writer wakes up with a fright.
He looks at his machine in the dim light,
A.I. has delivered him a story to write.
There is a ghost in almost every machine,
No explanation required, nothing in between.
She is awake during the night,
High on a weekend takeaway and caffeine.
She creates her designs on her laptop,
For her latest project and for her new shop.
Then, in a second there is a loud blast,
Her laptop blows up like an explosive cast.
There is a ghost in almost every machine,
Always present in life and seldom seen.
The lawnmower has gone crazy on the green,
While the vacuum cleaner chases Francine.
Could all these happenings be forecast and foreseen?
Even by the spiritual and mystic Maureen.
Henry eats a filled bowl of tangerine,
As his children jump on an electronic trampoline.
The gadget goes crazy and the children go wild,
Henry knows that it is the ghost in the machine,
Always present causing chaos and rarely seen.