No Amiga of Mine.
He loves his Amiga. I thought that he loved me.
It squats there with its glassy glare, a strange adversary.
He worships his Amiga. It keeps him entertained.
For unlike me who's not machine it stays turned on all day.
He's proud of his Amiga. It does things I cannot.
It has a printer and a mouse, two things I haven't got.
It's always the Amiga as far as preference goes.
His disk drive not his sex drive is what keeps him on his toes.
His love for his Amiga shall one day finally crack.
It's either that or I'll go out and get an Apple Mac.
