If I could funnel my energies into one thing
That lightens my life and makes my heart sing,
Would I set up my tripod and click-click away,
Storing photos to freshen my memories someday,
Or plunk away, tapping my keyboard all night,
Trying to come up with a story just right,
Or study psychology hoping to find
The missing connections that weigh down my mind?
Would I read all the classics or find something new?
Would I try an inventive new recipe or two?
Would I play with my dog tossing Frisbees and balls,
Or paint pictures to hang on my many empty walls?
Would I tinkle the ivories or strum on some strings?
Oh I wish I had time to do all of these things!
But it seems every chance I get when I’m alone
I’m a virtual prisoner to my smartphone.
Hey! Look up!
Did I utter a sound?
The sunset is glorious!
Why are you looking down?
Words ring hollow as
I stand alone,
Me and the sunset,
You and your phone.
In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Shoulda Woulda Coulda.” Tell us about something you know you should do . . . but don’t.
In the dark, it flashes. I look up. The clock screams, “It’s midnight. You should be sleeping.”
I look at my smartphone, charging on my bedside table. It begs for my attention. It’s a needy beast, constantly interrupting me. It has no sense of manners. It pays no attention to the people I’m speaking to at the moment, or in this case, the fact that I’m sleeping.
“Hey, you!” The light flashes its visual Morse code.
“Look at me!”
I groan and check.
“Hey! It’s Esme’s birthday today, don’t you know?” the phone says. It’s perky and bright.
I set it to vibrate, turn it face down and roll over. I can almost hear its muffled plea for interaction.
My phone has no concept of time.
I make a mental note to wish Esme a happy birthday in the morning.
And another mental note to smash my phone.