Entry - MAG Poetry Prize 2011

In 3011...

by Lisa Hitchen

Big, fat blobs we’ll be,
limbs surplus with technology.
Just spindly fingers for pressing,
scroll-select or guessing.
Googling eyes for video spaces,
other features blend with our faces.
Skin much thicker as we won’t touch,
no one will need real contact, much.
 
Our social life these matrices:
inside the web we’ll live the disease.
Being abroad will be passé
when Cousin Digital has come to stay.
No spice of foreign voices, monkey’s ears,
no scent of freesias or Belgian beers.
(No carbon footprint though
and Airmiles will have to go).
 
We’ll not bother to make amends
if we fall out with virtual friends
or real friends aren’t as they seem:
armchair living is living the dream.
 
School at home with computer chats,
webinars plus all the stats.
Those stats will keep us in this spot,
our burial zone, our limited plot.
Will any luddites be there that day
to question, ponder and then to say:
 
‘What is this place we once called Earth?
Our paradise, our home from birth?
If we went out and looked around
we might recall how it did sound.
But now we live in a metal box
- a giant, muffled computer sock.
Scattered thoughts are all we do,
pressing those buttons, me and you.
Yes, this gift we call technology
has given us so much, you see.’
 
 

Added: 26.04.2011

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