Poem: My Berlin Phone

Berlins night, neons bright glow and flash.

Reflections splashed on my S Bahn window.

Surrealistically almost a computer game.

Plain we are jammed,

in eery quiet, rings, plings, buzzes and beeps.

Train rocks lightly,

Rolls, we just hold our phones.

Alexanderplatz is warm and dark. 

Crowds shuffle each of us in a hussel .

Most heading home, tourists clutching cases .

The rest plugged into the net.

Tipping, tapping, swiping, writing.

Clicking, snapping, sending, booting.

It’s viral, 

It’s infectiously contaminated communication.

Legally,

I’m shooting endorphins.

As my post gets a like, 

Friends hit comment,

Yet another follows my Insta. account.

Instinctively I pluck my fucking phone.

Again, was it three minutes or give it five. 

Ago.

I know it’s crazy, 

Its addiction to this screen.

We all are addicted to our known.

Afflicted by the grown dependentcy on the phone.

Activate to see who’s seen.

Who’s new not been to my page.

My new pics, posted fresh just now. 

My microcosmic world, of who and how.

Check it, route it, write and mute it.

U Bahn Bernauer Straße, Aussteigen bitte!

Pling or was it a ring?

Home.

Liam October 18