The Death of Paper

By Andrew R. Duckworth

Words of the wise
Rarely enter in anymore
As we relegate old books
To the back shelves,
Making room for their
New sexy replacements-
Our new dopamine hits.

Books? Who’s heard of them?
Collecting dust in a museum
While we wear out new devices,
The kind that don’t disintegrate
Or come unbound after use.
They rust in the ground after
Replacement- Leak chemicals.

Plastic and metal
Meddle their way into everything,
The gadgets we asked for,
The consequences we asked for,
The consequences we ignored,
And a new life form we created
Out of the dust of the earth.

Books? Who’s heard of them?
Collecting dust in a museum
While we ignore all their advices,
The kinds that often come too late
To quiet our every complaint.
We have succumbed to technology,
Owe our future an apology.