Slave Society Poem by Sean McCoy

From across the room
a lilting chime,
the Siren’s Song
you cannot resist.
The electronic leash pulls taut.
What could it be?
A text?
A call?
An inappropriate picture, perhaps?
Face to face takes a backseat.
Your wireless oppressor
demands satisfaction.
Oh, it demands satisfaction,
and it demands satisfaction, now!
Your oppressor.
His oppressor.
Her oppressor.
Their oppressor.
You have all become slaves
to these strange,
chirping, quivering beasties
which have taken up residence
in your pockets and purses

…

Could you hang on a second?
I need to take this.