I used to open a door and
the square would dissolve behind me
as I went through it,
the earth’s embrace splaying out
in greeting above and around,
a panorama complete with
nicotina and straw, jasmine and wood,
skin-caressing breezes, mist
and earthy dry dust, grapevine shade
mottling my arms in a kinetic
ever-circling animal print,
sounds of children laughing,
pool splashing, sheep ruminating,
wind shushing the birds’
irrepressible tweets.
Now the names have turned to hyperlinks
the square has shrunk to the size of a
viewfinder, a million views being found
at every moment; the landscape’s
broken down into a million finger-
to-thumb snapshots, the space between
eaten up by countless, nameless, faceless
stranger’s sights.
If I could just step back far enough, it might
appear as a kind of Magic Eye picture, a Monet
of ads and amateur photography, and
a figure might spring out from the chaos
reclining on a divan, elegant and serene,
giving me a sly wink as she puts her
feet up on the Beast of Binary Code:
the Spirit of the Times, invisible to
faces glued to screens.
I think I’ll put this on my fridge!
what a fine compliment! i’m sure my poem will be very happy there. x