A generation like no other
Not like mine
Nor of my mother
Something changed
In recent past
I know by now
That it will last


I studied a menu
Then glanced in the room
It felt like a dream
And a bit like a tomb
Three couples sat
At separate tables
Glued to phones
Like hand held cables
This is no fable
It is our time
They didn’t talk
About love or crime,
What makes their heart chime
Or their favorite mountain climb
They were just stuck
In their personal pastime
A tunnel to another place
Not gazing on
Their loved one’s face
Not holding hands
Or making jokes
Nor commenting on artichokes
But sending out their random pokes
To others in
The mystic tunnel
Sucked in
by the swirling funnel
Drawn there
At dawns weak light
And on their break
And in the depth of night
Love’s deep affection
Dying in that public room
Cell phones kill
And form a tomb
Bound within the apple’s hold
The social virus spreads like a mold

The death of real
Of touch and feel

No breathing in the fragrant scent
Or noticing how time is spent
It withers by on cyber clocks
Which passes in enormous blocks
They wake up feeling severed shocks
Hear demons laughing
And one who mocks
In their alone and empty cell
They come to realize
It was a spell

By Laurie A. Stasi 1/25/2018


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