Her Phone

She’s staring at her phone.
She’s staring at her phone.
She’s unblinking, at her phone.

She sighs.
More stares.
More unblinks.

Much later,
She’s still staring at her phone.

We try to talk to her.
She mumbles “mhmm”, or “wha”.
Then announces, “Could it mean buttered toast!?” Oh, the disbelief. She types away.
And stares at her phone.

I stand, anomic. I’ve no idea what’s going on.
I’m out the door.
Then, panic.

Her battery’s almost drained dry.
At last, she’ll be off her phone.
She frantically unplugs my phone and plugs hers in.
There.

She’s back on her phone.

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