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.