By Matt Steel
18 March 2021
Sun beams
between blind slats,
brindles air-conditioned hands
cradling the loop-enabler,
that feature-crammed answer
to Ursula’s ansible, this
not-so-very-smart
phony window, gaze-gobbler,
proffering buffets of hot, delectable air
to stuff my rumbling id, to keep
these fingers flicking,
scrolling, tapping, liking,
blocking, shaming, hating,
killing any chance of
living
here
now.
What have I done?
What have I left undone?
A look outside shows
darkening dregs of afternoon,
a day spent in complexities.
Imagine: wind threading branches, lifting
strands of hair from a woman’s forehead,
winnowing mountains. Oceans
probing their own lightless floors,
shrugging shoulders,
moving coastlines, stealing
a phone from a chair
at the tide’s encroaching hem, drawing,
driving, dancing, roaring,
tossing, thrashing, pounding,
hurling destruction against every
signal,
distraction,
mirror.