First it ate the telephone and telephone wires
then all the clocks and all their ticking.
It sucked in the printing presses and
the logging trucks that kept them fed.
The tape recorder and the answering machine,
the typewriters which are no more.
The radio, movie theaters and TVs,
even the remote–the telegraph
and the post office have both fallen in.
It ate the library and the bookstore,
and the living room bookcases,
the stereo and the record store,
and my nine feet of vinyl LPs.
The cartographer, the atlas,
and the gazette–all tamped down in.
The social clubs, the stadium
the notebook and the pen,
Large stuff and small stuff,
all stuffed in.
The camera and the photo album,
the wallet and the little black book.
All the computers and monitors,
keyboards, cables and mice. The calculator
and the shopping cart. The weatherman
is inside it, and the anchorman.
All the board games, casinos,
puzzles, toys. The fitness center,
the coach, the tutor, the translator.
All the stuffing has been removed
from all my stuff, leaving just this
dense rounded rectangle in my pocket.