Folgier's in My Cup

I came with your face on my laptop
after plugging the operating system,
flagging data fields under partly-cloudy skies
of high atmospheric particle levels.

A pop-up ad interrupted everything.
I lit a cigarette and linked into a saturated fat.
Clicking on the Lotus position, I fixed my tie
and downloaded a new app-organizing app.

I once heard a sound at the shore of a lake.
A massive object cast a malignant shadow.
It was the Storm -- the new BlackBerry Storm
available only on the world's largest 3-G network

I signed the family contract. On bad nights,
red with unlimited text, I fled
from the high-resolution display, screaming,
in a loop: the best part of waking up is

a warm toilet seat, a distant memory
of you, doused in flour,
ironing my shirt with a rolling pin
or scanning the Times with an insidious grin.