Love Song to a Mobile Device

Ah my oddment, my life sentence,
my spool. How you noodle
and unrevel me when you get
out of hand! The butterflies
in my stomach must be searching
for their missing mouthparts.
(Let them eat ache.)
The insecurity screeners
at the airport made me prove
I could turn you on, but in the plane
they lied and told me
you would mess with their instruments.
Everyone disapproves of us.
They hate our freedoms but love
how trackable we’ve become:
one set of footprints,
the crumbs of our selfies
fought over by zombie ants.
My prim assistant, how well you fill
the space left by my first love,
a VW camper van.
But you are smoother to travel in,
like Aladdin’s magic throw-rug—
I hardly know I’m moving.
Sometimes I reach into the pocket
where I used to keep cigarettes
and find you there, cool and quiet,
set to vibrate.


anti-poem in honor of Nicanor Parra’s 100th birthday yesterday

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Dave Bonta (bio) crowd-sources his problems by following his gut, which he shares with 100 trillion of his closest microbial friends — a close-knit, symbiotic community comprising several thousand species of bacteria, fungi, and protozoa. In a similarly collaborative fashion, all of Dave's writing is available for reuse and creative remix under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 United States License. For attribution in printed material, his name (Dave Bonta) will suffice, but for web use, please link back to the original. Contact him for permission to waive the "share alike" provision (e.g. for use in a conventionally copyrighted work).

1 Comment


  1. A simmer in time, flotillas arrive piecemeal
    unrestricted to formation accustomed
    to inner cadence with the fly zipped
    a swimmer in fins at the edge of the fleet
    brings all glasses at once to abrupt halts
    in unbridled anticipation
    A shimmer in a line of illumination
    brings errant thought back where the endless cosmos waits
    a new master if the one turning will turn back
    hjakajohnleake

    Reply

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