I’m starting to think my phone’s a crutch.
It’s found in my hand far too much.
I glance at the news every ten minutes or so.
And the weather’s known wherever I go.
When I’m bored I’ve got games to play.
And there’s blogs I check every day.
My music’s there with more to explore.
I now have no reason to go out the door.
I’ve got mail and text and a video chat.
I could take selfies, but I don’t do that.
But I do like the camera and it’s often used.
Apparently I’m sneaky, or so I’m accused.
The flashlight illuminates the darkest of night.
And the calculator’s cool when I want numbers right.
There’s also a calendar to plan out my day.
And a G.P.S. to help guide my way.
I could write a story but typing’s a pain.
I could try my thumbs but see little to gain.
I can search the web for whatever I choose.
I’ve got alarms to disrupt my snooze.
And there’s more I’m sure but I don’t care,
I kinda wish it wasn’t even here.
Oh and the phone, that’s not used too much,
because I still prefer an analog touch.
This poem could go on for days on end,
I could type it all and just hit send.
It might not be finished, but no one would know.
Oh darn it’s ringing, I gotta go.