Cellphone
Claire Kuehn
I am a fruit, a berry,
an astrological body, renewed and outdated, updated with every app. I light and you look, shiver and you snatch, sing and you ignore. Covered by a case so I bounce when I plummet, clutched close by the leery, and shoved into pockets musty with lint. I’m banned from class, lost in the laundry, and left in the loo. My power is greater than what once went to the moon, and though you may love me when I am new, soon you will curse me. For I’m only the best for the first time you hold me, and then I am dinged, dented and damaged. Your neglect will peak, and then I will show you. I will slow your downloads and uploads, drag them on for hours. I will not hold the data you require, and you cannot stop my lag. Swipe right to answer, but take care not to slice your finger on the cracks. Maybe, finally, you will go get my clone, this time colored as you desire. Then I will be left alone, no longer forced to filter those selfies. |