Ode to the Consumer

Image by Gerd Altmann from Pixabay 

I want your time.

I want you.

Look at these new shoes,

pay thousands, you can have them too. 

There may be blood inside

who cares, drink up, give them a try.

Attention! Targeted audience, these soles will make you fly.

I want your time.

I want you.

Look at this tasty food…

Gluttonous flesh balloon, here, take two.

Pin the recipe you’ll never make, culinary fool.

May I offer an over-sized grill for meat?

Never mind your car has a leak.

I want your time.

I want you.

What are you sitting on, pleather?

Try this expensive new cush.

Get comfy, chill, let those bones turn to mush.

Fall asleep watching remakes, the same old thing,

hollow productions void of meaning.

I want your time.

I want you.

Buy that dress they wore.

Look! A ballgown in a grocery store.

Pricey makeup from a sweatshop

failed promises to make your eyes pop.

Shiny new things call forth

click more, we’ll tell you what you’re worth.

I have your time.

I have you.

Now go forth, internet creation, be like everyone else.

Aww, you’re sad?

Gobble this addictive pill to ease that.

Take them all, you don’t want to come back.

Hand over your identity,

I’ll keep it on the shelf.

Need a stool to reach? It’s two days to ship.

You’re right, that’s too long.

Just forget it.

Woke Services

Image by Myriams-Fotos from Pixabay

Mark locked himself away with shaky leg anxiety and hair twirling hypothetical fears of damages to his reputation.

Ugh, I knew I should’ve moved that candle away from the curtains. His internal thoughts spun on, plaguing him with fear. He knew who to call but couldn’t find the number to reach them. Shaky hands shuffle through a crowded desk, paper clutter flutters in the air. He finds a red card, his phone, and dials fast. I think they’re on the list, not that I can remember why. I have to be sure though…

“Woke Services. What do you want you couldn’t get online?”

“I need the Fire Department, quick!”

He stretches his shirt over mouth and nose, his coughs muffled beneath. Breathing becomes a new struggle he never thought he’d face.

“Okay, let me check… Yes, they’re canceled.”

“Uh… I—uh, okay, um, t-thank you…”

“It sounds like you’re in trouble, and our Woke Master package could help. For a limited time we’re including our Nothing to See Here add on which comes with one free month of services. It lets our clients engage with and use the services of cancelled companies and individuals under the table. This way, everyone can speak one truth in private and the bandwagon truth in public.”

“Um… How much is the package?”

“Seven hundred, due today—”

Mark hangs up. He remembers the low account balance text. More smoke fills the room, but he settles in front of his computer, observing his solemn face at the sign in screen. He just couldn’t risk his reputation associating with cancellations.

I don’t want to die… He muses, but remains seated all the same, setting up a live feed of his approaching demise. Behind him, a ground level window big enough to fit through. Instead, he draws the blinds. The flames clutch at the door frame and down onto the floor where paper clutter ignites. Flames reach his feet, burning through the soles of his shoes…

“Hey Guys! Welcome to my c-channel…”