Every morning, I visit
A strange, moving museum;
With statues of every shape and size
Each facing a different direction.
Occasionally, some statues break form
To talk jovially to a nearby friend
Or to speak to a loved one
Projecting their care from far away.
But usually, what I observe is
Lifeless, listless, bored faces.
With no hint of the enthusiasm
That usually comes with the morning sun.
Each one lost in their own sweet world.
Each one too busy to look up from their phone.


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