On a Crowded Bus

On a crowded bus I watch
A tide of texting thumbs.
No one young’s immune –
It seems that everyone succumbs.

Older folk read papers
Or a magazine or book;
Many simply close their eyes
Or wear a vacant look.

Younger people can’t survive
Without their techno-tools.
Losing them, I fear, would make them
Flail like helpless fools.

Somehow, in the days of old,
Pre-smartphone, way back when,
We occupied ourselves with books
Or paper and a pen.

Or, even better, we could sit
And think or dream or muse;
Trying to explain that now,
I think, would just confuse.

I once was taught that human thumbs
Made us the better beast,
But watching all those texters,
All my admiration’s ceased.