Girls and their phones
Sonething I have wanted to write about for some time now. Here is first attempt:
Train, tram, bus, car, walking or whatever,
You will see what this poem is about,
just as clearly as the weather.
Girls on their phones.
Girls who are perhaps so forlorn.
Girls who might be so alone,
Just like dogs without their bones.
Epidemic that has spread nationwide,
and every girl can prance the catwalk of a thousand responses,
to their selfies or posts. You can respond to that story.
It has never been good for the female of our species,
Rights to vote, rights to work, and how they are represented.
Girls today seem to be lost somehow now in some virtual world.
God help the boys who have trouble making nerve to ask one out,
only to be relegated to a friend that follow page,
in-boxed with other hash tag suitors.
I have nearly killed a few of them,
too engrossed with their screen,
to be wary of going through a vehicle screen.
They stand like mannequins,
twitching fingers and wrists,
with the odd twisting of their hair
to remind themselves - they’re female and living,
in a mating game called survival.
I’m glad I lived when I lived
and sowed my wild oats.
I would not be able to compete
with what his hot on their profiles this week:
Eyebrows, tans or tattoos?
To end this – a mum asks her daughter,
where she is going, all dressed up like that?
I am taking my phone for a walk,
before opening the door, stepping out,
without even moving her eyes, her brain from
where she now really lives.