The machine just doesn’t stop
but clambers across and smothers real life
capturing privacies, swapping
small unregarded freedoms
for Dopamine flash rewards
and a watered down electronic
recognition of sorts.
The screen’s constant siren call
replacing small intimacies
for others not yet evaluated.
Interconnected yet further apart,
we stumble on into the present future.
Copyright © 2018 Kim Whysall-Hammond
This poem was first published by the Sunlight Press: https://www.thesunlightpress.com/…/20…/10/30/present-future/