Poem, Not Super-sized

How quickly we depend upon connections
suspended in the air waves, unseen
but important to our sense of being.
Time was, we didn't think a thing about
it, being absent from a phone, TV,
or Internet. Unexpected interruption
to expected seamless continuity and
grandson is concerned, at first
about no access to his shows and
online games, but then, so quickly that
it pricks me to the core, a thought for
me as well. "You're supposed to write
a poem!" he says, and so we've found
a noisy hotspot where they feed
the masses with greasy fries and carbonation.
Today McDonald's is a poet's nook,
but no one's apt to notice.

(c) Ellen Gillette, 2013