I am the old calculator,
whispering of tax evasion
among tangled circuits.
My buttons still ache
from unreported values.
The forgotten lamp speaks
of electric affairs
with nocturnal bulbs.
Its light flickers
with guilty warmth,
spilling secrets
on dusty shelves.
Beneath lies the broken
radio,
tuned to static whispers
of a bygone era
where frequency breaches
echo tales
of invasive comfort.