Donkin's World: iLife
Carriage chosen, seat defended,
Kindle gripped and settled,
We glower our attackers down
And celebrate the victory of space.
Richard Donkin's poem contemplates electronic isolation.
We butt up like barnacles on bare rock,
Bag walled, window eyes
Shuttered against the strobe journey.
Plugged ears, sponge brains
Graze a rhythmic beat,
Absorbed and sealed with a hiss.
Queue and covered hands punch
Bingo numbers, tool money,
Snatched and palmed from
Trusted cavity to gaping leather,
Stuffed, replete and satisfied,
Cushioned on apprehensive breast.
We do not talk to willing strangers,
Perish the high-five,
Banish fraternal warmth.
Sometimes we smile at tidy dogs,
Preferring German pedigrees
And neat, disposable, poop.
Whole days can pass without
A nod or glance or sniping shot,
Unnerving the enemy crowd.
Cleansed by its soap-bar tones,
We bless and coddle close,
The pocket-confessional, always near.
Sprint-walking, stealing steps,
Filter-feeding scraps,
Dredged from the networked ocean,
Skimmed, lean, recycled,
Approved by experts, processed
For an undernourished soul.
Concourse-bound our Brownian steps
Choreograph an exit,
Carriage chosen, seat defended,
Kindle gripped and settled,
We glower our attackers down
And celebrate the victory of space.
Girded thus, we shop, to buy,
To breathe, but not to think.
In-date yoghurt beeps contentment,
Caged and plastic bound,
With problem items,
Pleading a mute innocence.
Nozzle dry, we pay the pump
And order online now,
Another link in a chain
Curtain of social exclusion,
Veiling a neighbour’s doorstep perch,
She’s busy too, that’s understood.
Packaged supper, wrapped conversation,
Multi-screened, we Tinker Bell fast friends,
Spreading a gossamer presence,
Quenching our social thirst,
Warbling and thumbs-up icons,
Yes, this is the high life: iLife.
