Over a glass of Sauvignon Blanc in a hotel bar
I suddenly realized I could breathe to the fullness of my lungs
But only because nobody knew where I was
As I had no cellphone.

What I had cursed was a blessing:
The day before a wedding in Charlotte
My 8-year-old Samsung Android started making ghost calls
To random strangers.
An also-me run amok.

Like a 1960s sci-fi film,
I had a plan to transplant my old phone’s brain
Into a new phone’s body,
Confirm all data and passwords and apps
Ported over correctly
Otherwise I’d have a monster on my hands.

But with crap hotel Wi-Fi
And barely a charge on either phone
I can’t do shit
Except drink on the rooftop
Journal old-school with pen and paper
And breathe.

So this is reality, I said to myself
Not the Pavlovian version I normally live
Adrenalized to respond to every ping and notice.
Like Neo taking the red pill, I began to see
The simulated truth of my being.

Humans existed for thousands of years
Without these technological bungee cords.
They got lost; they found each other
Or didn’t.
Life went on.

If no one notices I’m gone, am I insignificant?
If I could detox from tech
And all my facades
Who would I be free to be
Untethered?