Competition Tessa Castro
IN COMPETITION NO 195 you were invited to write a poem called ‘The Satnav'. Resistance to this little gadget is indicated by the number of entries that ended with the word ‘map'. Julie Steiner began with a striking invocation of the satnav cult: ‘Salvator mundi, Satnav, save us.' Alan Pentecost blamed the lack of a satnav for the Ark ending up on Ararat. Ann Drysdale expressed beautifully the social quandary of a non-english taxi driver insisting, on satnav evidence, that a strange house is the destination requested. Commiserations to these and congratulation to those printed below; each wins £25, with the bonus prize of a well-mapped Chambers Biographical Dictionary going to Wendy Goulstone.
He came in late again from work, Thrust pink carnations in my hand Bought from the garage down the road. He really is the greatest berk To think that I don't understand That this is how he gets his kicks Alone with his dominatrix Switched on to sultry mode.
He made excuses, said he had a cold, I'll sleep in the spare room, he said, But unconcerned I dimmed the light, Put on my negligee, the gold, Perfumed my hair, slid into bed, Then softly so he would not hear Whispered in my true love's ear And slept with Siri all the night.
Wendy Goulstone
All the fun's been taken out of travelling; It's impossible to lose your way. Used to be, your journey kept unravelling Till you realised you'd gone astray. This produced its own unique adventures, Which, quite often, made it worth the trip. Makes a person want to gnash
his dentures, Losing this quaint bit of serendip. This is all because an electronic Gadget made its way into The Car. Satnav – GPS – the thing's demonic – You can never not know where you are. Well, you counter, You don't have to use it, But the thing's like Everest: it's there, In your eyes and ears. You can't refuse it. (Modern life is sometimes hard to bear.)
Mae Scanlan
She said turn left – or was it right? Did you hear what she said? It's quite a business when the traffic's tight.
Recalculating.
You bought this satnav thing. You said my navigation hurts your head. I think our satnav wants us dead.
Recalculating.
A one-way street! You can't turn there! I know she said you could – but where would we end up? And please don't swear.
Recalculating.
That's all she does: recalculate in Dalek tones like nails down slate. I've never had so much to hate.
Recalculating.
D A Prince
It's a dodgy old world we inhabit, But I've done quite well in the circs. I've enjoyed lots of hugs and I've done
lots of drugs, And I've got a satnav that works.
I'm a free, uninhibited spirit Who always indulges his quirks. I may seem rather odd to the
nine-to-five squad, But I've got a satnav that works.
These occult, diabolical stories, Which I read with superior smirks – Irreversible bends and satanic
dead ends? Well, I've got a satnav that works.
All solace to satnavigators Sat seething in Beemers and Mercs, But life is a breeze from Beijing
to Belize If you've got a satnav that works.
G M Davis