I realised the other day, while walking down the street, that I’ve become a M.O.B. (Miserable Old Bar-Steward). A group of teenagers sat in the sunshine and all were using their smartphones. “Huh!” I said to myself (muttering in public being one of the early symptoms), “I bet they’re ‘talking’ to each other!” I continued my slow journey to the library muttering about “the youth of today!” Later on I recognized with horror that I had turned into my father. It’s time I was put out to pasture…
Oh! The joys of a mobile phone,
(Or whatever they’re called now!)
We must be in touch all of the time,
At home or on the plough!
Whatever did we do in olden days,
A phone box did we seek?
Didn’t care about connectivity,
And sulk in a fit of pique!
Do you remember talking,
When you went out for a meal?
Brains were used instead of Google,
Today crosswords are hardly real!
Groups of teenagers snap-chatting away,
(To the ones they’re standing beside!)
Leaves you wondering where it will end,
If conversation has finally died!
© Baldock Bard 2015
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