A friend I call Sister Shawie silently sobs
And all of her children’s hearts’ knobs
are plugged with mics noise-cancelling
and bluetooth earphones desensitizing.
Old mixed emos - can’t relate, how brute
- worse than real deaf or numb or mute.
Their sympathetic eye implants blue night
and smiling chrysanthemums yellow bright
selectively blind. Their once flawless derma
now pock-marked with socmed anesthesia.

Beneath the optical cables of glass sublime,
the umbilical cords are cremated in time
as the much sought wifi signals reach prime.

The cyber world defies ethics and all logic . . .
A mother’s milk is replaced just like magic.