Forgo

There's lip gloss on a plastic cup,
it's hardened on the rim.
The heat is on, my feet are cold,
my water glass is two days old.
A half eaten devil dog shows off
it's "play dead" on the scanner bed,
while operatic voices play
and urge our heroes on.
And here I sit and here I stare,
my screen just glares right back
and between us we hold a dialogue
conversed in keys and codes.
While on the bed the voices of a nation
sit waiting to be heard, to be learned
and I turn my back to them and
submerge myself into the subculture
of the digital age.
My eyes see pixels.
I dream in html.
I hear great literature whispering
but can't hear it over the yell
of instant gratification that sits
at my fingertips
and just one click away.
The click replaces the rustle
of a crisp sheet.
The clack drowns out
the scratch of pen.
And I forgo my studies
once again.

December 8, 2003