SOCIAL MEDIUM

Social. . .
a number? . . .
or a URL?

Was not
an erstwhile social circuit,
when people danced,
played tennis, cards,
or golf,
or maybe even cricket?

Like, somewhere
at some grand old church,
or at a party with
some ice cream?–

Oh, yeah,
and actual
flesh-blood people?–

not just photos
and emoticons
on some glowing I-Screen?

It’s easy now
to make some friends
who live not even
in what any
dreamer child pretends–
they are just luring, ghostly fairies
built of blips
by programmed loops
hacked out
by unseen folks nefarious–

unlike the harmless,
play-time, friendly,
wiggling-finger kind
that come out
when you open the door,
the thumbs of hands
that form the church
with pointy steeple. . .

Those techno monsters
somehow do not seem to fit
the friendly sense of “social,”
when viruses and predators
lurk everywhere
like some
plague-bearing beetle.

Is it then,
in any way, quite apt
to christen it a “Medium”?
Perhaps the point that is most crucial
that, though it’s really not so great,
it fools you
to think you’re in a beta state,
and provides a fuzzy, warm escape,
replete with the illusion
that somehow, by your using,
you can evade
the daily tedium?

I know quite well
it is not like
our basic O2 atmosphere,
the real thing
that gives us life,
and room to breathe,
and to move through,
our natural
and proper sphere,

and there is
no way it compares
with the vast expanse of water
in which we sometimes sail or swim,
the largest other medium
which Earth’s lush life can harbor,

nor is it
shining bullion stacked
as the accepted
go-between,
which, to the eyes
of the civilized,
some universal value means,

nor a psychic fortune teller
whose mind can raise up tables
in the air,

nor a way to get from here to there–
we sit on butts and type and click
and dumbly gaze on lifeless screens,
and often get NOWHERE!

This thing they call a Social Medium,
therefore, lacks the flesh-pressing threat
or opportunity,
the thrilling risk
of real life venues
that used to
connect and entertain,
refresh and mend you. . .
Though hearts, flowers and cats,
and all sorts of gnarly spats
will sure be there to tend you.
On a some little
high-tech thing
that glows day into your late night eyes,
to thwart your Z’s
along with techno-heat
and funny waves
electro-magneto-radiant.

And it’s not nearly
the best way
to convey a message–
Big Brother
smears your page with ads
and leers as much
a trench coat spy,
as he sends
your urgent little notes
in faithful intercessage,

but, one day soon,
we may forget
our feet and cars and bikes–
especially for steeper gradients,

as we sit, entranced
by hearts and smiles and Likes,
hunched toward the screen
of the latest, smartest phone enhanced
with the fastest huge processor.

But we will do this, happily,
and still spend loads
of precious time
on our Social Medium,
for, though it molds us pretty crappily,
it’s sweet-awesome-sick expedient.

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This entry was posted in Daily life, Poetic Musing (Longer Poems), Poetry and tagged , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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