Pocket Poison

They said, "let's go to the teahouse for a drink"

presumably to have some social time

but it's as if reality gave me a wink

since conversing face to face is known as a crime. 

 

I won't lie, I can be guilty myself

checking conditions on the sea of information

yet each megabyte is a sneaky little elf

changing you into a template for automation. 

 

iPods, laptops, our mobile phones

claim to forge between us a stronger connection

it's difficult to realize that we're becoming drones

with our thoughts in the midst of total convection.

 

The next generation holds the world in their hands

and the clock in the center of our planet ticks

how long do we have control over our own commands

before technology launches its Order 66?

This poem is about: 
My community
My country
Our world

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