Where the road and footpaths meet, I negotiate a way
between hunched hatchback gas-sippers, cyclists,
and small, home-bound children.
I look down at my hands: white smartphone in one,
white bag of prescription medication in the other.
I’m enjoying the Spring sun; maybe it’s the meds. Maybe
it’s the fact that I have a better phone than you.
The zeitgeist whips around my ears, stage-whispering
in a Bale Bat-gravel -
ten ways to reach people you flippantly call friends,
via touchscreen, never much counteracts the fact
you’ll lack bona fide faces tonight.
Facebook. FaceTime. Twitter, Skype -
I’ll see them tonight.
The pills provide just the right levels of depersonalisation.
Detachment. I’m disenfranchised, and not sorry,
because I still have a better phone than you.