modern problems #8

no need for the quid, destined for the cake sale tin;

there’s a PayPal link in the all staff email— fees apply.

and that leaving card is online, too, so keep your biro.

there’s a whole bunch of hole punches gathering dust

you can put it with, just next to the gunless staples.

dump printers and telephones, before patience ends

on skin and bones, the most unoptimised of machines.

all these cables lead to nowhere, you know; they’re all

VGA in the age of HDMI. hanging on like the old USB.

first they came for the PC towers and I said nothing,

because I found my laptop largely more convenient,

but now I’ve never had so many places to dock while

feeling so unmoored. and the desks are so bloody hot

that no one can bear to sit at them.

so I’ll never believe the lies spread by big ergonomics

about why eyes sting in the unnatural, overhead light.

In The Shadows

“Hello.”

We stand in the shadow of a handshake–

That most strange salutation of an outstretched, peaceful hand.

That with which we poke and grasp our way through this hazardous coil,

With our arms outstretched before us like inquisitive children.

As though to say: “What is a friend,

If not someone with whom you would trade the many relics of a day lived

And gladly fight each microscopic battle that ensues.”

All for the reassuring clasp of skin upon embattled skin.

But here we stand in its chill absence.

It is painfully implied,

As it dances on that barrier held between us with the power of will.

It mocks the calculating mind with its impossible, prohibited simplicity.

–

“Hello x”

Our new lovers are taunted by apparitions on small screens.

The walls of their rooms, dark in those illicit hours of romance,

Are danced upon by the haunting shadow of a kiss,

Which might yet lead to nought.

I know we can talk,

But what weight is conveyed by the pressing,

Of skin on tender skin.

–

“Hello.”

Upon returning home, a mother and child cannot unite,

Until she scrubs the passengers from her longing arms–

Those unthinking specs, who enjoy the touch that they deprive.

The shadow of an embrace lingers in the doorway–

An awkward guest–

And hovers where patient children sit.

Just wait– let me renounce these words and cool the sting

Of distance, through the touch of skin on tender skin.