Imagine a World

Imagine a world without i-phones.

Imagine we lost our i-phones.

 

Imagine a world in which the President of the United States of America lost his i-phone.

Such a state of affairs might easily be.

Just imagine the President decided last week to cosy up to the Jews.

Such a thing might easily be: the previous week it was the anti-Semites.

So the Pres attends a Rosh Hashanah meal.

At that meal everyone is given a slice of apple.

All hold the apple in their hand and dip the apple in honey.

All intone: ‘may it be your will that you renew unto us a good year and a sweet one.’

 

The Pres watches and follows suit. The honey pot passes to him and he dips his Apple well and truly in the honey.

As is the wont of the incumbent of the White House he decides then to send off a tweet. Just as he did after meeting the Saudi king, declaring he had overcome Islamist terrorism, he now purposes to tell the world he’s given the Jews a good and sweet year.

 

But the thing with Apple is their device no longer works after a honey dipping.

The Apple Warranty states explicitly: ‘Apple Corp offers no warrant of service if the device be dipped into any fluid extruded from the rear of a bee.’

 

In the untweeting silence America is lost. For her

president cannot tweet.

 

The Pres finds himself impotent to provoke North Korea.

The Pres cannot encourage racists.

He cannot insult patriots.

He cannot communicate ill will.

He is powerless to wedge.

He cannot wage war against the climate of our planet.

 

The President remains, of course, incapable of coherent argument; and incapable sustaining any argument longer than 40 abusive characters.

 

A world in which our President presides without his i-phone is a different world.

It is a better world in which we can look forward to a good and a sweet year.

 

 

Waiting for the Wrong Bus

This bus I await
Is not mine
In the dark
On the 91 Line

I took the 91
Missed my stop;
Now look around
Outside a shop –

In a doorway
Two recline
Homeless among
Homed on the 91 Line

Her eyes closed,
His wide
She reposed
His rest denied

Not hunger,
Not dirt
On her face, her shirt;
His face younger

But pinched,
Eyes narrowed,
Jaws clenched,
Looks harrowed –

Ten feet
Just ten
Separate us
From them

Not an iphone
At his cheek
But a fruit ice –
A second peek

In not yet dawn
She wants warm
While he applies ice!
Wondering in gloom

I check my cash
Two large notes
None small; rash
I approach

“Could you use a quid
Or two?” “Mate,
I could.” (A schooled voice.)
Note unnoted, palmed, hid.

“Toothache?” “Mate, agony,
Three days now…”
Pain cries for relief
Not money…

I’ve three green
Gel tabs, ibuprofen:
These given, palmed,
Expose the fifty. Now

He sees, amazed
“O mate!”
And I, running late
Escape on the 91 –
The wrong bus;
The streets
Of London
Separate us –