Bum   Thumb   Crumbs

Time was I would get off my bum,
yank on boots, banner wave and chant.
These days the agent of dissent
is my thumb. It clicks for clean air,
whales, nurses, the icecap, younameit.

Repetitively strained, my hand in pain,
I cannot stop. Help may be a tweet away,
a petition signed. A tick bestowed.

But am I tricked by the tech moguls,
bought off with crumbs from their table?
As I click, click on Twitter et al
what am I missing when I’m clicking?

 

 

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Joan Byrne

 

 

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