Poems · poetry

“Phoning It in”

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“Phoning It In”


Snickerdoodle cell phone,

Called, but she ain’t home.

Charges when inclined to roam.

Left charger at my dealers home,

What smartphone methadone,

Will liberate my blank soul?


No longer tethered to a landline,

But addicted to The WiFi.

The collective stares away their prime.

Information unrefined.

Assaulting folks in real time,

Consuming identity, lost mine.


Whispering texts with light fingers,

Snapchat dick pics never linger.

Performing words like cunning linguists.

A vocational aptitude to malinger.

A auto-tuned idolatrous singer.

A modern age regressive zinger.


All batteries eventually run out.

All people eventually run out.

All credit eventually runs out.


Then you realize:

You can’t charge it no more.




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