I see them everywhere, their hands clasped together as if they were in church,
their heads bowed slightly forward as to avoid eye contact with their neighbors,
their eyes riveted to what I can only presume is their new form of bible.
I wonder to myself about which god they’re paying homage to
and if maybe I’m missing out on something,
some kind of calling that brings them a sense of inner peace
Every now and then they will avert their gaze but they still look lost
it’s as if they’ve been awoken from a self induced trance
and I can see the panic that’s hidden behind their eyes
Their new bible requires sustenance and they dig through their pockets and purses
much like looking for change for the collection plate
and they attach both ends of the umbilical cord to their bible and the wall and await their fate.
They, like their hand held device are quickly restored,
their bible lights up as do their eyes and they resume their former posture
and remain indifferent to people and their immediate surroundings.
Woe unto me, for to them, I am an outcast,
For when pressed I answer “Yes, I own one of your bibles,
and no, I do not worship at its altar."
They claim their bible brings them knowledge,
I claim it brings them only entertainment
since their brand of knowledge is seldom shared
Unless you count what they call “Words With Friends”
and even then they consult other chapters of their bible to cheat on their fellow worshippers.
I guess that’s why I prefer a good old fashioned game of Scrabble