Over at the dVerse Poets site, we are fretting about the level to which families and individuals are plugged into devices as a surrogate for genuine desires. A recent survey supposedly tells us that the family is coming together again in the living room, in front of the TV, but each armed with their smartphones, tablets, laptops and so on, tweeting and messaging away to the outside world instead of talking to each other. Bodily togetherness, perhaps, but a zombification of the mind. This is a poem I wrote a year or so ago, but which seems very relevant for this discussion, so I hope you don’t mind me reusing it.
We only really come alive
in front of deadened roar of others,
canned laughs still rouse us to sardonic smiles,
while tortuous plots free up our sneers.
Looking carefully ahead, not at each other,
each lost in our singular, unshareable thoughts.
We gossip about them in a semblance of emotion
so trite we stop caring long before the sentence ends.
As unadventurous as last night’s dinner
no miracle can reheat.
Not facing or squaring the truth and the gape,
ever silent we cling to our sofa
and the myth of our togetherness.