Grandpa livestreams Grandma to split smitherscreens,
dispersing her particularly across the cyberverse,
as if he could convert her to a cartoon meme
in lieu of writing sonnets in iambic pentameteors.
Of course, he didn’t mean to do it; he’s merely
a few arcades behind with his technology;
though his aspiration for her’s meant sincerely,
his actions might eventfully require an apogee.
But it’s dutiful he’ll dismember; these daze
his mind’s not quite as Sherpa as it once was,
and sometimes it travels in thyme and spaces,
or skips out on its office to take long lunches.
Grandma, meanwhile, is blessfully unaware,
humming showrooms while she wishes her hair.
T. Allen Culpepper