She’s learning. That’s good
for her. I’m left out and so
lonely. Bad for us.
There are thousands of/
books and podcasts to hear, but/
that’s not why I’M here.
I’m watching her first,
and mine, replay themselves. Our
conversation’s *mute.
OR
*gone.
OR
*dead.
In the field all day,
clearing thorns and feeling pain.
Hot, tired, sore, happy.
We have deep talks when/
her device gives insights. Else,/
I’m left to myself.
AND
I thought myself wise,
insightful, worth talking to.
I’m boring, replaced.
AND
Were I wisked away,/
I would not be missed. She could/
still comment to friends.
AND
Some fight unfaithful/
lovers. Others get replaced/
by technology.
AND
If porn is wrong ‘cuz/
it subs for intimate love,/
what is device talk?
I’m still doing what
I think I should, still wanting
to believe I’m good.
As my glory fades,
I struggle, then realize:
It was never mine.
How can and should I/
show respect to someone who/
doesn’t respect me?
There once was a man
who didn’t wash his hands
then touched everything in the kitchen.
When I remind him again
after he’d touched his glands,
I always felt I was bitchin’.
(That is to say,
not in a good way,
I’d rather eat rotten chicken.)
What should I do?
What should I say?
I continually remind him
day after day.
He just shrugs and stares.
He clearly doesn’t care.
Maybe not caring’s the trick
(At least ’til I get sick.)
You’d think what we’d seen
during Covid-19
would change his hand washing
without all my bossing.
What should I do?
I haven’t a clue.
And now I’ll go puke
’cause I’ve got the flu.