I wish I could go back to
A time without smartphones
when (the lack of) notifications —
instant, intrusive, attention-seeking —
wouldn’t make me feel blue.
Perhaps I would find skills to hone or
learn how to play the trombone.
Perhaps I would make a silly schedule and set aside
time for counting stars.
I would heal oft-ignored scars
with indulgent bubble baths
and when the wastage of water
induces my mother’s wrath,
I’d pour her a vodka-tonic from
my father’s mini-bar.
Perhaps I’d plan an impromptu trip
to a village next door,
and escape secretly without
status updates or a social media furore.
Perhaps I’d climb a hillock,
peppered with attention depleters —
Blue Ticks, Read Receipts and Last Seens —
I’d line them up and make them walk the plank.
Armed with my newly found attention span
I’d make my way to the nearest river bank,
where I’d fashion Gods and Monsters out of shape shifting clouds
and be unconcerned with the whereabouts of my man.