Watch The Replay: Haiku Lament

I’m watching her first,
and mine, replay themselves. Our
conversation’s *mute.

OR
*gone.

OR
*dead.

Social Media is the Convo-Thief Lament Haiku

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.

Creativity
would boom if I wrote thoughts, not
social media*,

OR
Facebook and X posts

It’s the Ethan Fromme
of it all I never saw
coming, but who does?

When you have to say
hurtful things, you should publish
them privately.

You’re not doing what/
you should be doing? How do/
you get back to it?