Shall I Compare Thee To A Bathroom Fan?

You are a mono tasker,
Designed to do one thing: suck the air out of a room.
I recognize that you cannot change.
Sucking the air out of a room is your reason for being.
Without this quality, who are you?

Sometimes, this singular quality is useful; other times, less so, 
But you engage whether I need you or not.
You get going every time I come into your presence,
When I’m popping by to grab something off my desk,
Or read,
Or take a nap.

I know it’s unreasonable for me to expect you to intuit my needs,
But even when I communicate them directly to you, by saying,
“Stop fucking doing that!”
You don’t modify your behavior.

It’s not your fault.
You weren’t programmed to discern.

Sometimes, when you’ve been droning on for a while,
I pretend I’m somewhere else:
In a different bathroom,
Or in a different house,
Or in a different town,
Or in Europe.

I say this without blame or judgement:
You have a sensor, but no sense.
You can’t tell when to remain silent.
Not trying to fix you, just acknowledging that,
You’re limited.

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