On a Crowded Bus

On a crowded bus I watch A tide of texting thumbs. No one young’s immune – It seems that everyone succumbs. Older folk read papers Or a magazine or book; Many simply close their eyes Or wear a vacant look. Younger people can’t survive Without their techno-tools. Losing them, I fear, would make them Flail like helpless fools. Somehow, in the days of old, Pre-smartphone, way back when, We occupied ourselves with books Or paper and a pen. Or, even better, we could sit And think or dream or muse; Trying to explain that now, I think, would just confuse. I once was taught that human thumbs Made us the better beast, But watching all those texters, All my admiration’s ceased.