Moses descends with his tablet in hand
Held over his head he seeks out broadband
One bar shows, the screen pings, glows,
Lo behold: an email? How grand!

He scans the newsletter: it is patently absurd
A colourful mess, all muddled and blurred 
The glasses he drops from his minimal crop
But cannot read past the second word

“Dear Moses,” it says! (and lest you forget
“Moses” is a surname like “Antoinette”)
His hackles rise, with some surprise  
At this unforgivable breach of etiquette.

The more he ponders, the more “Dear Moses” sounds
Presumptive, crude and quite out of bounds
And to be emailed thus, deserves a fuss
He hits reply and, impassioned, expounds:

“Dear Sir,” he types, starting quite strong,
Kicks off his slippers then shuffles them back on
“I am appalled, to be so called
By my name; clearly you can see it’s wrong?!”  

He edits in ‘sur-name’: a key detail! 
But Moses must write a still punchier mail
“Thou shalt not call me Moses at all,
Unless ‘Moses’ follows ‘Mr’ without fail”

He types more: “I worry for your whole operation
Clearly leaderless, rudderless, on a path to damnation
Professionalism lacking, I shan’t give my backing
Lest association tarnish my good reputation!”

The screen suggested a thing called emote 
Moses tapped a finger on a symbol called “smote”
Then an angry face too and (for good measure) a poo
Signed and sent, Moses mused on what he wrote.

Almost forgetting what forced his rebuff
He read the newsletter calmly enough
Ashamed? Not a bit, though he had to admit  
They had actually written some quality stuff.