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Copyright: Fred Robel, and Fritz365 2010-2017. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog's author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Fred Robel and Fritz365 with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

Tuesday, January 22, 2013


That's what the tattoo said
Struck into the exact center of my torso
Short for "Inoperative"

Really it could mean
That any given part of me
Wasn't working as it should

Maybe my grabbers weren't grabbing
Good for nothing
Or at least nothing good

I wasn't sure what it meant myself
As when I awoke
It had just been there
And everything felt just fine

I rose from my chair and took a few steps
Walked circles in the little room
Jumped some jacks for fun

I recited a Shakespearean sonnet
I heard myself do it in perfect pitch
I saw the sound waves as well
Sight receptors were without a hitch

I observed all this
And checked my mental checklist
Till I got down to the next to last item
And realized why the tattoo was true

The item stated simply "LOVE"
With a checkbox next to it

The problem being that I didn't know what that was
No matter what memory bank I accessed
No tips or hints were there
To tell me what Love was
Or how to do it
Where to find it

I sat back into my chair
Reclined to thirty degrees
Stared at the diagnostic readout
Seeing nothing to fix what must be broken in me

I stroke my "INOP" tattoo
With the third digit of my right hand
Feeling the slightly raised edges
Of this newly healed dark green brand

I send out a request
Upon the internal network
For an update that I may fix myself
Then power down for the duration
In hopes that the next time I awaken
There will be new data to download

So that Love
Can be a part of me