you’re my perfect distraction,
my lip-biting, breathtaking, midday attraction
taking me away from every responsibility,
at least, for just a time until you say my name
and ask me, ever so softly in that baritone voice of yours,
did you like that, baby?
do you want more?
Stop looking at your damn phone, for once
watch your kid, and push him on the swing,
instead you sit with your eyes glued to your phone
letting someone else push him, while you simply sit there
And when he tries to help another kid, you blame him
and say we’re going home if you don’t behave,
And he tells you he really was helping the other kid, but you didn’t see that, did you? Too busy looking at your phone again –
what the hell’s on the display?
Are we this distracted now, seemingly burdened
to raise a generation of ignored kids?
Do we even see the stupidity of it all, our phones
more important to us than the reading out loud
of three little pigs?
Isn’t it a laugh when we purport to spend time with them
only to stare at our gleaming phone screens?
And let them play and run and be beaten by bullies
but we’ll never know that – our faces super-glued
to these damn machines.