3.2 - Mobile Phones, Static Folks
it walks on streets, it's looking bored
it works and eats, without reward
and when it's free, weekends and nights
it gawks TV, football and fights
its life's a cell, no eye, no ear
it doesn't smell, it doesn't hear
no hopeful heart, no brilliant brain
and no idea what's «entertain»
its face books speak about its peak
it's not unique, it's just a freak
its life's a phone, it's so bizarre
when what you own is who you are
it's what you do
that makes you «you»
your poem is due,
or make it two,
about bamboo
and birds that flew