Mary Mary
I learned, this morning, that my Grandmère’s tiny,
designer tote is a ferriday bag.
Mary, Mary, are you worried?
What does your browser know?
Your clicks, your likes
your secret midnight swipes,
are those things others should know?
What about the things you buy,
the posts you read, your favorite feeds,
the secrets you type, then backspace zap,
are tracked, like the buttons you tap.
Your ephemeral searches, the links you try,
uneraseable, without the reasons why.
It stores your trail, reads your mail,
with ever watchful digital eyes.
Mary, Mary, have a cookie.
What does your cell phone track?
The trips you plan, the maps you scan,
your location with accuracy GPS,
friends you text, the songs you select.
The news you read for ‘free,’
the streams you prefer to see.
Our gadgets know our rhythms
and feed the hungry algorithms
which sell our interests bit by bit,
and tweak the clever, coded rules
that predictively model your moves
before they’re consciously known to you
pushing that valeable data to Internet databases.
Mary, Mary, quite uneasy, what do your gadgets do?
they connect you to the world and the world to you,
They tease and seduce you but they also pimp you.
Those apps - with your permission - watch and listen
to things you say, people you know and places you go.
.
.
Songs for this:
Cookie by NewJeans
Private Eyes - the bird and the bee
ferriday bags - block WiFi, Bluetooth, cellular, and RFID
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