FB Is My New BF
I look up my webpage
and it says, Sorry,
what you’re looking for isn’t here.
The girl of your dreams. Wads of cash.
Your mommy. What is here
is Facebook, your new best friend.
When the story about the woman
who bit her boyfriend’s tongue clean off
broke, I thought, Sweet,
and wrote so on Facebook, but
got only two Likes, one from a girl in Biloxi
whose ancestors, I heard, cannibalized
— she’d stare at people, then snap out of it,
saying, Sorry, I’m hungry —
and one from my husband
who Likes even wolfscapes.
It’s like getting a laugh, he says
on the phone from his office
to me on the phone in mine
though we’re just down the hall
in the same house.
Yeah, I say,
until you get the laugh’s for someone else
and no one’s heard you
because no one knows you.
My six-year-old dates a seven-year-old
when he logs on to Club Penguin from home
and she from her mother’s iPad
so her avatar penguin and his avatar penguin
can avatar kiss — who needs to talk,
to forge feeling and story
into meaning and symbol,
a longing scrubbed in light?
At the quote unquote home where my sister lives
with the other quote unquote clients,
they sit around a large ashtray
in a green courtyard, the birds singing,
looking off into middle distance, dragging on smoke
in long breaths of thought
listening to voices in their heads
quip about who’s the real nut job
or who needs to jump in front of a train
and real quick before the Jesus in the TV
takes all the antipsychotics, sedatives, and hypnotics
so no one hears one more voice.
Hell, if it weren’t for the ashtray
they’d never see each other.about the author