The promise of a new notebook
Ripe to be filled with keen observations
Juicy gossip and events to be
Remembered fondly
But when pen touches page
Any semblance of an idea vanishes
Like the wand of an etch-a-sketch
Swiping left then right
Now my finger has found its way
To a tiny screen, where it can be found
Swiping left then right
Until it falls off
Losing its ability to write, create
Function without it
Though I would like to think otherwise
My imagination is no match
For my deeply distracted,
Overly informed little mind
When did I type that “f”
And hit enter?