Life Support

I wake up to the sound
of one ringing rectangle.
After silencing the device
I grab a second, larger one,
start my day tethered to technology
like a man on life support.
I watch as my creativity ebbs away
as the device stuffs my mind
with far too much information
matching the way I eat
too many sweets, drink too much coffee.
My mind is now bursting with pointlessness
unable to function on its own
mired in an overabundance of wealth and privilege.
I am dulled to complacency
by the sheer repetition
of rectangle after rectangle
shadowing every move I make,
following me down the street,
into the bookstore, out to the doctor’s,
where he looks at me strangely
when I ask for an infusion
of humanity, of compassion
something other than what I have
spoon-fed to me on a daily basis.
He prescribes more screen time
says I need to stop self-medicating
with trees and flowers and friends and poetry
The only way to survive in this world,
he adds, is to surrender to technology.