There must be, in the particular hell that I have in mind,
a special depth of bubbling sulphur reserved
with special prejudice, for the guys responsible for
head-banging wake-you-in-the-middle-of-the-night
and-refuse-to-turn-off-no-matter-what-you-do-with-your-keys
while-you-stand-there-in-your-pajamas-in-the-middle-of-the-neighborhood
while-everybody-ignores-you-but-knows-that-you’re-there
car alarms.
If there was ever an invention, scheme or torture
devised to humiliate, inconvenience and infuriate
its owner; if there was ever a device
that so completely fails to prevent theft
or perform any useful function, it is the
car alarm.
If you remove it, you cannot drive your car.
If you open the trunk while holding your keys,
or if the temperature or humidity taunt it,
or a if you trip while you carry groceries and your keys
or if who knows what totally arbitrary thing happens,
you will hear your useless farking tool of a
car alarm.
It is really too bad the car alarm had not been invented
when they were filming the The Prisoner: it would
have been the perfect Kafka-esque absurdity for Number Six.
All hail the car alarm— driving everyone equally crazy,
one honk after honk after honk after honk after honk after honk at a time:
car alarms.
