At eighty we have,
With a certain optimism,
Bought a new smartphone.
They lie side by side on the counter,
The old and the new,
Passing information one to another.
If only humans were programmed that way:
Contacts, dimly remembered,
The great hits of the ’70s and ’80s,
The secret music of the passage of time.
And one day, our phones will carry us. – mh clay