He remembers a time when this was all fields.
Halcyon days when the internet was new.
He remembers the day of the dawn of the smartphone
He watched MySpace die as Facebook grew.
He was happier then, with his primitive access.
A handful of friends and nothing to say.
He handed out pokes with reckless abandon.
He checked his phone about twice a day.
It’s all very different now, of course.
He’s plugged into the matrix near constantly.
Eternally scanning to fuel the addiction.
Sometimes he wants to watch it burn.
Sometimes he needs to let off steam.
The friend requests from his school day bullies.
The casual racism. He wants to scream:
FUCK YOUR MILLIONS OF MEMES OF MINIONS.
YOUR KIDS ARE UGLY AND THEY ALL LOOK THE SAME.
YOU SPELL LIKE SOMEONE WITH A BRAIN INJURY.
THE COUNTRY IS SCREWED, BUT THE MUSLIMS/GAYS/LIBERALS* AREN’T TO BLAME.
But he doesn’t say a word.
He just keeps it all inside.
I ask him “u ok hun?
“I’m ok”, he lies.
*delete according to preference/prejudice.