How is it there are not more accidents

upon Britain’s high streets

as we have found a way to truly

be at one, not with the universe,

but with a small selfish screen

which demands we lower our heads in silent

prayer and ignore

the passing footsteps of the careworn

and the sarcastic, that we must

bump into those surrounding us

and argue that they should

look out for our shadow dangling off us,

desperate to get away and seek

out other sun driven silhouettes

in humanity’s gloom;

an accident waiting to happen,

a death waiting to appear

and all because we cannot take

our eyes off the screen

and watch where we are

damn well walking.

Ian D. Hall 2016