by Preeyakit Buranasin

The other day I met my friends.

It was an ordinary weekend.

I was happy and big was my smile.

I haven’t seen them in a while.

In a nice restaurant we sat.

And then we ordered this and that.

After ordering, naught was said.

My friends agitated, instead,

Simultaneously grabbed their purse.

They penetrate it, fingers first.

Their eyes changed when their fingers found

The thing they sought, more square than round,

A small thing with so small a screen.

It looked quite wide and very lean.

Like a lover, my friends held them tight.

Not once were their screens out of sight.

Their quick thumbs pressing that and this.

It seems they forgot I existed.

In different planes we seem to be.

Was right there! But they don’t see me.

I call to them but they don’t hear.

Then one of them plugs a wire in her ear.

When I had enough, I called it a day.

I took my stuff and walked away.

What can I say? I got bored

Of being completely ignored.

But as I walk to the front door,

Saw something strange and walked no more.

For every table was like mine.

Everyone who came here to dine

Had a device like my two friends.

Type, click, type, type, type and send.

They all had these and quick thumbs.

Even the waitresses had one.

They were talking without speaking.

They communicate without seeing.

They were all in an synchronize trance

As if they were all in the same dance.

I alone didn’t have these dancing shoes,

But that’s not why I won’t join you.

I can afford them. I can pay.

But I like it the old fashion way.

I prefer laughs to L-O-Ls.

I prefer voices to ringing bells

And touches to strong vibrations

And seeing your face to your abbreviations.

I’ll never have quick thumbs.

I hate texting and staying dumb.

Editor’s Note: Quick Thumbs is not the first poem by Preeyakit Buranasin to feature in Eastlit:

• Explaining Atheism to a Christian was in the November 2013 issue.
• Yellow or Red was in the August 2013 issue.