We trade gifts in Pokémon Go,

these strangers

and I.

And each gift comes

with a postcard,

a snapshot of some semi-random place.

A park,

a statue,

a theater,

a historical marker.

I spin the PokeStop

from the church

at the end of my street

several times a day.

I worry that my online friends

think I actually worship there.

Even my local friends

are mostly people I’ve never met.

We pass the same photos around

over and over.

Today is my turn to receive

the Samuel L. Jackson mural.

My girlfriend and I always

save the painted rose

on the sidewalk

for each other.

What’s fun is seeing

images from other states.

Kitschy Americana stuff.

Goofy statues outside restaurants.

Signs with animated ice cream cones.

Occasionally something real like

the Grand Canyon

or Arlington Cemetery.

Better yet are the postcards

from other countries.

My friend in Mexico who sends me gargoyles.

Shrines and shops in Japan.

Monuments to historical figures

we have probably never heard of here.

One guy sends me the loneliest looking

basketball goal

from somewhere in Slovakia.

I wonder if he plays there.

Or if he just passes it each day.

It’s always fun

when someone visits

an amusement park.

I just got a postcard

from the Indiana Jones attraction

in Shanghai Disneyland.

It’s a strange kind of tourism,

seeing these little bits of the world

each day,

many of them with descriptions

in languages I can’t read.

I wonder who they are sometimes,

the people behind the cartoon avatars.

Instead of churches or restaurants,

I’d like to send them pictures of my dog

or my girlfriend’s art work.

Instead of a sticker with a silly caption,

a message of hope

or a poem.

Connected but alone,

we send each other gifts each day

which only hint at our real lives.