I watch the people on the bus read electronic books.
But I never see one lick a finger and
press their DNA against the LCD, while peddling down
to the next page. And I never see an attempt
to crease a corner or slide a yarn flagged bookmark in,
behind the battery compartment or neoprene sleeve.
I watch the people on the bus read electronic books—
and I wonder where the joy went to,
or if they will ever notice what has been missing, at all?
I miss those licks—
and I bet that the page does too. Even more than I do.