The food that feeds but does not satisfy
emerges as from seeds I did not sow
and like a rampant weed it starts to grow
until there’s not a plot it does not occupy.
It is a carnival aroma, cotton candy, fries,
a siren song, a laughing braggadocio
a knowingness that doesn’t really know—
the more I eat, the more it multiplies.
Hour by hour I fear how it devours my day
in ways that warrant constant connectivity
first thing in the morning and the last at night.
Otherwise it is invisible, a marvel of hearsay
that shows me pictures I can’t help but see
and sends me sounds by radio and light.
In truth the urge to fight
an appetite for eating that which eats me is absurd
as is the name WiFi, which is a nonsense word.
It rides not on the wings of birds
but baffling things that fly and perch at will.
Whose will? A question to be answered still.
THE FOOD THAT FEEDS BUT DOES NOT SATISFY