This falls into the category of things I had forgotten that I had written. The genre might be called pre-postmodern Luddite rant.
First it ate the wall phone and the wires
then all the clocks and all their ticking.
It sucked in the printing presses and
the logging trucks that kept them fed.
The tape recorder and the answering machine,
the typewriters which are no more. The radio,
movie theaters and TVs, even the remote–
the telegraph and post office have
both fallen in.
It ate the library and the bookstore,
the living room bookcases, the stereo
and the record store, all nine feet of my vinyl.
The cartographer, the atlas, and the gazette–
all tamped down in. The social clubs, the stadium,
the notebook and the pen, large stuff and small stuff,
all stuffed in.
The camera, the photo album, the wallet and
the little black book. All the computers and monitors,
keyboards, cables and mice. The calculator and
the shopping cart. The weatherman is inside it,
and the anchorman. All the board games, casinos,
puzzles, toys. The fitness center, the coach, the tutor,
the translator. All the stuffing has been removed
from all my stuff, leaving just this hard handful
buzzing in my pocket.
Note: unpublished draft