Turn off the wireless, shut down the 3G;
Cancel the account with A T & T;
Turn off the power the last time, you see:
I’m selling my iPad.
Erase all the apps so there’s nothing to leave;
The eighteen games and the five Twitter feeds;
The twelve different apps to control my TV;
I’m selling my iPad.
Say goodbye to the virtual keys;
My fingers more clumsy than Apple believed;
Auto-corrects too incorrectly for me;
I’m selling my iPad.
Wash off the screen of the dust and debris;
Stow lint-free clothes that I no longer need;
I’ll not miss the signs of the oil I excrete;
I’m selling my iPad.
Type up the listing for my auction plea;
Set the price with a sincere guarantee.
The dent on the side? You can’t even see!
I’m selling my iPad.
I need something more than the iPad can dare;
Something that’s stronger and better prepared.
But please don’t mourn for my lost Apple flair —
I’m writing this on a new MacBook Air.
I’m a gadget addict.