I plug in my IPad.
A misnomer, of course.
Who makes calls anymore?
Even I, looking hard at 70,
have succumbed to the ease,
the detachment, of text.

I plug in my IPad. 
It gobbles juice
as I google, scan, and delete,
delete, delete.

I plug in my Samsung.
It doesn’t connect me
to Instagram, to Snapchat,
or to the cloud.

It connects me
to my body,
allowing it to carefully 
keep its own pace.