from an english hamlet

behold them
the noble citizens of the modern American
marching proudly through the world
with their chins tucked neatly
into their own neck folds
so they can maintain
unbroken eye contact
with the almighty phone
they don’t walk
they orbit the nearest takeaway
a gravitational pull
stronger than reason
stronger than shame
stronger than the smell of their own chips
every few steps
they pause for the sacred ritual
shovelling something beige
fried and vaguely chicken shaped
into the yawning cavern
where conversation used to live
they don’t taste it
they don’t question it
they just inhale it
like a Dyson on a sugar binge
and return immediately
to scrolling through videos
of other people
eating other food
in other places
they’ll never visit
because walking there
would require looking up
their phones track everything
steps (none)
calories (all of them)
screen time (infinite)
attention span (deceased)
and still they roam
glowing like radioactive lanterns
faces smeared with ketchup
souls marinated in algorithms
living life through a rectangle
while the real world
waves politely
and gives up
a civilisation built on convenience
deep fried thought
and the unshakeable belief
that if it didn’t happen on the screen
it didn’t happen at all




Poetry by JohnJohn
Written on 2026-05-20 at 09:24

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