Mike Smith

Friend Slipping Unnoticed
Towards Insanity

Agitated,
beyond our reassurances,
she’s anxious,
under siege
by plausible imagined forces:

Threats we’ve all set barriers against,
smart phones,
computers,
voice activated intelligences,
hackers,
spies,
clandestines trying to get in,
stiletto thin
edges of wedges
that prize her mind apart.

Beyond my art to fathom
or redress,
fears of schemes,
tricks,
scams
already pulled against her
tumble from her lips.
All too easy to believe,
the world being the way
we think it is.

Eventually
she’ll take her scissors to the cables,
cut through to electricity,
disconnect
from all that wires her in our sanities.

Mike writes plays and essays (mostly on the short story form) and has been concentrating on writing short stories (as Brindley Hallam Dennis) for the past few years, but he is always pleased when a publishable poem sneaks in and slips out! He lives on the edge of England within sight of three mountain tops and a sliver of Solway Firth. All his writing is intended to catch the ear rather than the eye.