Lifting out of reality,
the lighted screen seals the time bomb in our heads.
Our next appointments, contacts, phone numbers, birthdays, dates.
What once was now seems so obscene.
No cell phones, internet, plasma televisions, ipods.
Laughable, perhaps.

In the days of hand written letters,
wholesome television,
courtesy and chivalry,
as we marvel at Gate’s creation.

Our cell phones quick on the draw,
while cyberspace becomes our daily reality.
Believing in the cosmic media
of fame and beauty,
leaving us with an artificial tan,
in the dead of winter.

No more family dinners,
and the twenty question ritual.
Our parent’s oblivion,
to the norms of our generation.

We haven’t touched our asparagus.