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Phoneless 48 Hours

2 min
Poem  ✺  Well being

Brewed a fresh pot of coffee
Beeping heard from three stories below.
Oh, how I love a cup of joe
and to think I quit this routine
not so long ago.

Sitting on my lanai
Silence stirs
as shaggy
soon-to-be-salty surfers
bike by
bound for the south shore swell
On this fine
Saturday morning.

I questioned my soreness:
Are my bruises actually that bad?
What does Surfline say the waves look like?
Am I missing the gnar?
My Wavestorm will need to wait
for another day.

And so I continued my ritual
Picked up the most brown banana
Mashed him into the kodiak cakes.
No Jack Johnson heard.
No Banana Pancakes song to dance to.

How sad I felt without Spotify
The silence is necessary though
To realize what a blessing music can be.
I remember CDs for Christmas
blasting on my boombox
covered in stickers
from being an obedient ballerina.
Just like Amazon packages arriving
within two days,
Spotify is pure convenience.
We type a song and hear it.
Botta bing, botta boom.

Next best option?
Let’s try the real deal:
an instrument.
I didn’t have my ukulele app
My strings were a mess
Far from pleasant sounding.
Untuned racket.
Mere noise.
I send my condolences in advance
to my neighbors thanks to these thin walls
Even the ones with the opera-bound newborn.

No Spendee app to track
my McFlurry dessert last night.
How will I remember the money I spent?

No laundry app to be proactive
With these smelly linens
or sweaty socks.
The banks are closed.
No coins.
I guess it’ll have to wait
for another rainy day.

No Google maps.
Time to go get lost moseying around.
Worst come to worst
I pretend to be a tourist and ask
or lean into the lostness
and hope to be found.

No weather app
To know when the flash flood would flee
Time to get drenched
Covered in goosebumps
And hope for a rainbow eventually.

Good riddance to Twitter,
Instagram and emails
Those three sneak into my subconscious
cast spells on my thumbs
to incessantly check
and capture my attention.
Relentless with their rushes
firing off excitement in my brain.
The seconds, minutes, hours pass
As if it were laundry money
Lying on the linoleum floor.

Perhaps life without a phone isn’t so bad?


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