Love Song to a Mobile Device

Ah my oddment, my life sentence, my spool. How you noodle and unrevel me when you get out of hand! The butterflies in my stomach must be searching for their missing mouthparts. (Let them eat ache.) The insecurity screeners at the airport made me prove I could turn you on, but in the plane they lied and told me you would mess with their instruments. Everyone disapproves of us. They hate our freedoms but love how trackable we’ve become: one set of footprints, the crumbs of our selfies fought over by zombie ants. My prim assistant, how well you fill the space left by my first love, a VW camper van. But you are smoother to travel in, like Aladdin’s magic throw-rug— I hardly know I’m moving. Sometimes I reach into the pocket where I used to keep cigarettes and find you there, cool and quiet, set to vibrate.