My parents and I sit in the front row
of the auditorium/church/movie theatre.
My mother’s clock radio is under her seat
in case they send her to a place where
she has to tell time                        
                                   Above the screen is a
tool bar with lessons/hymns/orders
scrolling like a stock ticker on Wall Street
or the leaderboard at the U.S. Open  
                                                                 I rise
from my seat and walk to the back
where the creature is fed and watered    
                                                                      I see
this place is a pod linked to other pods
same stock tickers, same leaderboards
                                                                      I see
the screen reach out with malevolent
hands             
            seize optic nerves
                                             freeze brains
People are free to change seats but none
are free to escape the screen’s embrace  

I return to my seat but keep my eyes to the
floor         
         like Anne Frank in a closet listening         
         to the rhythm of marching boots
         and the grind of tank treads