My Powerpoint, a poem

I don’t know when I first met Powerpoint.
Maybe some pirate CD in the nineties.
I didn’t know what Powerpoint was for.

I don’t know when I first used Powerpoint.
I save all of my files in multiple places ever since the storm.
But yet, I don’t care to find out.

I remember making slides in Photoshop,
or maybe it was InDesign, I don’t know.
I thought those weren’t Powerpoint,
but I was wrong.

I like my Powerpoint.
Only perfection keeps me from being quick.
I can be as tacky and as kitsch as I wish,
for cheaper than at a vintage store.

I like my Powerpoint.
I like that slides are like Lego,
blocks you can push around.

Our ancestors learned about rhetoric and great tribunes.
But we live in better times.
We play with blocks, and remain children.