by Stephen Du Marais

MY trouble all begins
Because I got the PC game
— The Sims —
And I set about creating he
— my Sim —
And when I finished,

And my Sim went about
His daily life,
In his PC world,
under his lid,
Doing all the things I did.

He played ball, and watched TV,
Why, he even had to pee,
And sometimes took his dog for walks,
All inside my plastic box.

But slowly I began to see,
He was doing things before me.
One time I watched him make a stew,
And I thought it looked so good,
I made one, too.

And one day he made a friend,
— another Sim —
Then later on I met a man
just like him,
that other Sim,
And I could plainly see
That that new Sim
Was him.

And I looked coldly through my box
Where he took his dog for walks,
Where my Sim played ball,
and watched TV and had to pee,
And he looked out,
And grinned at me.
Could it be?
That I couldn't see —
That I was he?
He grinned at me.

Why, that jerk was not my Sim!

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