Chirp by Ken HarnischI watched the child mewing on the couch
Crocodile tears for sure
Assuaged by promises of ice cream and iPads
Which was the innocent’s design after all
The gray haired battalions, bunched in a forest
In the room, spoke of yesteryear
And how the streetlights, not a cell phone
Were the alarums raised to bring us home
Now home is where the heart is, and the mind,
And alas, all too many children, on the best
And most brilliant of summer days. The empty streets
Are antiseptically devoid of life, while inside
Double hulled hives, the buzz of life as it lived today
Continues in its unabated solitude.
And a child, once happily bribed with a baseball,
Now succumbs only to the chirp of angry birds.
12/14/2016 Posted on 12/14/2016 Copyright © 2024 Ken Harnisch
Member Comments on this Poem |
Posted by Chris Sorrenti on 12/17/16 at 04:48 AM Brilliant articulation of technology on the modern child Ken. Great to read you again. |
Posted by Kristina Woodhill on 12/18/16 at 07:13 PM Good one, Ken. I am waiting for children to be born with heads that no longer can look straight ahead or even up, genetically speaking."The gray haired battalions, bunched in a forest
In the room," especially loved these lines. |
Posted by George Hoerner on 12/19/16 at 01:48 AM I find it in testing as I grew up/older Ln my mid to late teens in very that TV was just taking hold in living rooms. We still preferred to play ball as the sun was sinking than watch TV. We even played cards, usually bridge, rather than watch TV. If not cards I played with my best friend who lived across the street. |
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