Ghosts in the Machine

Our eyes skim over the pictures,

from fuzzy analogue candid snaphots,

scanned by inexpert keyboard players,

to digital no-filter – yeah right –

we believe you Dorian.

We see the people we once were,

even in the faux-trendy efforts

posted by us who don’t understand

the insta-grammar or how to tock the tock:

we believe in keeping up.

The faces grow fatter, or thinner,

every change is inspected as if by medics.

We consult Dr Google and Nurse Panic

we are frightened by others’ frailty:

we believe in athanasia.

We meet virtual ghosts on Facebook,

those gone but digitally unforgotten.

We remember them, and feel l’esprit

as we descend the stairs to our own ending.

We believe in keeping on.