I must have been cross-eyed and unsatisfied
When I was born: an outlier, but I’ve tried
To Like the Facebook posts that fill my feed
With endless lists—ten things that I can’t miss,
A video who’s end I have to see,
Another puppy pic, go team, click this,
Click that, and Like this thing if you agree—
But selfie pictures only make me wish
That I was living in their background space:
Pastoral fields passed over for a face.
Among those meadows made of grass and muck,
I’d leave behind my high-top Converse Chucks
To feel the brush across my tender soles.
I’d pull the earbud plugs from either ear
So i could hear the wind across the knoll
Whose bushes’ foliage sings ever-clear
That leafy crackle: knowledge true, but old.
I’d pick a fruit from branch-bred chandeliers
Whose taste would be too good for one; I’d share,
But by my side, I’d find no others there.
So those discarded shoes would clasp my feet
Like black-thread mourning garb, or funeral sheet,
And I would turn back on my darkened phone
To check the texts I’d never seen, but missed,
And see the friends I’d gained while so alone.
I’d take its camera with an angled wrist,
Positioning the wold behind just so,
And capture it in picture form to list
Top ten Edenic places one must go:
Hashtag blackberrying, hashtag Thoreau.
~Michael Danger Caskey