March 10, 2012


They say they want
to be my friend,
not really knowing why,
add me to their menagerie,
thinking perhaps
I'm still a young specimen,
not knowing I remember
when friends came
not so fast and easy,
did not die in captivity
quite so quickly,
felt each other
face to face,
instead of texting
an embrace,
posting every little thing
they've just done.
Now they've
lost their mystery,
like those who sight birds
just to check them off,
ignoring their entire history,
what they eat,
where they've gone.