i = phone

A poem on /dəˈpendəns/

So seamlessly has this perfectly palmable screen
become embedded, limb-like, in my hand.
A glowing, ceaselessly buzzing blanket of security,
a compulsory lifeline to those I love.
Mimicking mingling via blue text bubbles,
sharing fluctuating feeds of popular opinion; posts
portraying exclusive parties between profligate proposals.
Scrolling compilations of candids, animation and artwork,
like a drug, a fix, I click, double tap
away from immediate reality; my pleasure or pain,
distancing me from daily dreams —
things I could do, tasks I should do,
the things I yearn to do,
but watch others do, instead.
Spy some red reminder to rewatch a good time,
an old time, a various version of me:
frames of the past preserved for prying eyes to see.
‘Following’ new friends, leaving ‘likes’ on cool content,
time is spent slipping through slides, various stories
of places carefully captured and flawlessly filtered:
the aspect meticulous to depict the perfect 1%.
This screen, the noise, the blue light, the chatter,
bar me from me and all that I’m after;
Readily reachable by lifting eyes up
and putting myPhone down.