The mind of a sat-nav

My trust in modern technolgy, based largely on ignorance of its inner workings, nearly led to rejection of a potentially useful bit of kit.

My sat-nav is very demanding.
She insists that I do as I’m told
In a tone that is firm and commanding,
Persistent, unfriendly, ice-cold.

I felt differently when I first saw her:
“That’s the sat-nav for me, I declare –
She’s so slim, so petite, I adore her!”
And that’s how began our affair.

I was sure I could soon get to know her,
But what ought to have roused my suspicions
Was the USB socket below her,
And her long list of Terms and Conditions.

“Such details,” I thought, “are distractions.
As we travel through life’s hidden byways
I’ll discover her subtle attractions.”
But I soon found that her ways weren’t my ways.

We started off well, as we travelled
On routes that I knew pretty well;
But my trust in her guidance unravelled
When she sought out the back roads to Hell.

“Turn left at the junction,” she insisted,
When I knew turning right was the norm.
Down lanes that were narrow and twisted
We sped, as I strove to conform.

I knew I would get no apology:
She would claim her technology forced her
(Like hormones in human biology).
I felt it was time I divorced her.

I grabbed at her 12-volt supply,
“This’ll teach you,” I growled at her screen.
Just in time, though, I realised why
She had taken us where we been . . .

. . . And I let go the threatened supply lead.
In her wonderful, caring, devoted way,
She had faithfully satisfied my need
And avoided a jam on the motorway!

So we’ve patched up our quarrel, made amends again.
The past is forgotten – it’s history.
We now have become best of friends again.
But the mind of a sat-nav’s a mystery!

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