Mobile Zone
There’s a new tribe of people,
The numbers growing by the day...
Who worship the mobile phone,
With its led display...
Tapping frantically for hours,
To some sort of texting code...
Whether they are walking along the street,
Or driving down the road...
When the signal does drops out,
They are abusive to passers by...
As they go into a frenzy,
And some are known to cry...
It’s always in their hands...
Wherever they may go...
Making the strangest noises,
With an odd eerie glow...
Their eyes are transfixed,
To this little led screen...
Awaiting for a response,
From someone that's unseen...
This tribe don’t speak either,
Their language is complex...
Communicating with symbols,
That they simply call a text...
They sleep with them in bed,
As a call just can’t be missed...
The urges are so strong,
They struggle to resist...
They all gather in their groups,
And no one makes a sound...
As their fingers move so quickly,
On the keypads that they pound...
Feeding off the gossip,
Rumours and fake news...
They are left bewildered,
And a little bit confused...
If they learned to talk,
The good old fashioned way...
They all might get along,
And have a better day...
Len Newey 2012