Skin crisped in an affluent sun,
head fit to burst – you show me
how Facebook works on this
brusque emerald day – leaves
sigh in nostalgic wind, I have
no human friends, in love with
the sound of the breeze, the
flame of the sun, no need for
other company, stunned by
the unity with beauty of
warmth and sound
Alien voices urge, words don’t
reach my spirit, it needs diverse
wavelengths to commune – I feel
more alone on a social network
than in normal life – you show
groups, chats, photographs – I
cannot even master French
conversation links – you say it’s
easy – I can’t explain it isn’t, I’m
ensconced in myself, cannot
break the spell of this glorious
shimmering day
which holds me in thrall – your
voice intrudes on the quiet in my
mind, your interaction groups
drive me to despair – I cannot
feign interest but do the right
thing, you suggest checking author
Terry Pratchett, reading his life –
and I quail: I want his books, his
characters, stories and ideas –
not his life, I won’t intrude in his
privacy – fantasy is where I want
to go and what I want to share
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