GreyParty

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in our day He would spread SIM-cards instead
of seeds, check for our reception of voice

and text; speak of the calls dropped by the road-
side, or bounced beneath cement tunnels: blocked

signals which descend like pigeons. He’d warn
of satellites which snatch words from our mouths,

yet chide those who live in fear, with their phones
suspiciously off; and the forgetful

who can never seem to nightly plug in
to recharge and refresh. He would finish

with a parable: an end to roaming
charges and our minutes rolling over.

unblinking He’d ask, “can you hear Me now?”
and pray He would receive more than static.

~ MEH