Are you befuddled by new technology? Do you long for the days of simple on/off switches and phones that simply ring hello? Do most appliances have too many options?
My iPhone Made Me Cry
An Interactive Poem
I don’t cry at weddings
I know the odds
Sometimes I cry at funerals
But always try to hold back my tears.
Yet, my iPhone made me cry out loud
Wet sobs and gasps.
It refused to allow me to take charge
And I’m a take-charge kinda gal.
My iPhone hated me
It hated my touch
I tried each finger every which way
Cutting nails, huffing warmth into the cold tips. Nothing.
It left me at the altar
We were not to be wed
My i and my me.
The marketing magic
Had me in a frenzy
I wanted it.
I wanted it to love me
It wouldn’t. I couldn’t.
Like a Mac to a PC
We were incompatible.
Waiting in line
Pain radiated up my flat feet
Very little is worth waiting for
But I was determined.
It was hyped and I was hyped.
My son said it wasn’t for me
He knew me
“It’s not for you Mom, you won’t get it.”
He was right
The i was not me.
GPS, iTunes, texting
Weather, news, all playing
Songs of love for
But not for me.
My friends would call
They were trapped inside
They heard me, but I could not hear them.
I pressed every button.
“Hello, hello, dear ones,” I pleaded.
But they were drowning in high-tech.
And to diminish my sense of well-being
The phone kept reminding me my power was down:
30% of your battery remains.
I panicked. Dr. Katz had just assured me my EKG was normal.
A mere mortal I
My e-mails went to the wrong
My thumbprint called people
I chose to avoid.
“What’s up?” they asked, pleased to hear from me after
Years of deliberate neglect.
I returned to the point of purchase
“Please!” I pleaded to the salesman,
“Get me out of i!” He recognized me. The eldest in the line.
“Please, I beg you,
Put my number back in my old pink phone
Give me back my hello and good-bye
My Shangri-La ring
My rose bouquet screensaver.”
Jerome, his name tag said.
He was a good man,
A kind technocratty.
He dried my tears metaphorically
I offered up my old Sanyo
“Ancient,” he said with pity, “…a dinosaur.”
“Old soul,” I said. “I am a spiritual person.”
“No more parts for it,” he said. “They don’t make it
“Please, I want it back, Jerome. Just it, Jerome. Nothing new,” I cried out.
People looked, I calmed down.
I then whispered fiercely to Jerome, “GET IT BACK FOR ME.
Who cares what it costs.
I’ll pay anything.
I WANT MY PHONE BACK!”
Holding my pink dead Sanyo in his arms
He dialed #s and codes
Summoned Martians to enter invisibly the
AT&T store. No one saw them. I felt their presence.
Slowly, my dead phone came back to life
Risen from ashes. My Phoenix. My Sanyo.
Magically, Jerome breathed life into my obsolete friend
A miracle ensued. A light shone in the darkness.
It said, Welcome.
I sobbed quietly sensing
I called my friend Roberta.
Unable to communicate, I had missed
Her big ## birthday
“Sorry I missed you,” I pined,
Happy Birthday, sweetheart.”
“Your present is in the mail,” I said.
“Thanks,” she answered,
“Brent gave me the best new toy for my B.D. and
I love it.”
“Oh,” I said, half-interested. “What?”
“An iPhone,” she said.
And I gasped, fighting