Poem: Thumbs
Thumbs are what distinguish us
from the less important creatures below us on the chain of food.
Thumbs are why we eat them
and not the other way around.
Maybe this explains our fascination, our absence of humiliation
our willingness to stare and unwillingness to care
for life outside our glowing screens.
Some in the figuringit-all-out business will soon announce
the total triumph of opposition,
of digits doing what dogs cannot.
Others will say something else.
Noise, distortion, clamor, cacophony, a persistent buzz and thrackle.
We are amazed delighted liberated by our clever thumbs,
all the poems that they create
flying over keyboards, whose appetite we sate
by pressing here and pushing there,
underlining our aliveness
for emphasis,
for an uplifting reminder
we have thumbs.