Half alive or living dead?
I wonder what they could be feeling.
A whole generation in mechanical motion
like a line of red ants on the ceiling.
A stale smile on a frowning face,
a stiffened glance like day-old bread.
When they do decide to look at you
they’re staring just beyond your head.
Shoot them up with flashing lights,
from that pocket slot machine.
No need to drop a single dime
to lock them in their own fluorescent dream.
And say a voice were heard from outer space
claiming it could pound us flat,
they’d shrug and be quite unimpressed,
quite certain “there’s an app for that.”
No comments:
Post a Comment