MOBILE

On the train, early in the morning,

you sit on your seat,

very alone.

It’s so clear on such an hour

your being alone,

on the day’s bare bone.

So you start fumbling

with your small glass

portable home..

touch, touch, touch,

slide and touch,

so much.

This screen, the moral

at your disposal.

This smooth log,

this starlit

bog.

 

Slide, slide on

this shiny pool, dear,

no matter how far off you are,

no matter how astray,

slide and touch, it’s clear

you are not dead yet, or so you say.