Phones, phones, phones,
See the people with their phones,
Silver, pink and paisley phones,
On the subways and the buses and the sidewalks, all alone,
Lost in intimate exchanges with their phones, phones, phones.

Hear the murmuring of phones,
In their muffled monotones,
Feel the muted tremulations, like the buzzing of the drones,
Hear the pinging and the dinging of the phones.

Passing time, time, time,
In a strange robotic rhyme,
With the tintinnabulation of the tones, tones, tones,
All the people look the same to me, like clones, clones, clones.

See the driver with the phone,
How it chills you to the bone,
See a world of seven billion navigating all alone,
Through the secret sibilations of the phone, phone, phone, phone, phone, phone, phone.


This poem first appeared in The Society of Classical Poets Journal (May 19, 2021).
Used here with permission.