Badoo

They’d live happily
in groups, chat face to face,
meet in gardens and sport fields
and never leave.

Instead they sit
till the small hours
sending texts promising
dream lives, devotion

and togetherness, visions
of turtle-doves and sunsets,
roses and champagne,
even wedding bells.

Think of the fake
pictures of their belles,
mystery women who lost their grip
on reality some time ago
their souls fallen apart
by loneliness and sanity abandoned
for blind hope.

Imagine a bumpy coming down to earth
when they meet in the flesh,
finding vixens gnaw at their bones,
when they turn into wolves
tearing ahead, shaking the bad dreams off
by smashing their computers.

Will they wake up and take count,
disconnect from the disconnected,
cross borders and come back
from the future?