In an Unrelated

We have almost nothing left,
no ground in common.
At best, a brand
or maybe a miniseries.

No campfire to gather around.
The big stories, peckish news
gets told in tweets,
gets old so quickly.

In place of one place
a billion tiny customized versions
appear targeted specifically
to your tastes.

You see only what you want to see.
Maybe you always did.

Poem by Elaine Equi