Dot Com [first draft]

Sometimes you meet a pretentious old man on a bus and have to write a poem because you’re too awkward to argue with strangers on public transport. So here is that poem:

I come from the geek generation.
The learned to type before I could speak generation,
the revolution of touch technology and progression from floppy disks to viral video.
The dot com degree getters, sadled down by student debt and sweat and elders that expect respect
for running our economy into the ground
and giving us our Mother tongue,
smothered in slurs and bloody as it is,
so we had to make a new one.
Replaced letters with fingerprints, punctuation with emojis, crafted ourselves a script
the war mongerers couldn’t hear.
Is that why you’re so angry? Why you condemn my every selfie? Tell us we’re over privileged, entitled and so much more?
If you wanted in the club,
you should’ve come and asked,
because the internet
unlike your history
is all inclusive.

If you think that you can’t have Facebook and real friends simultaneously,
consider you might be using it wrong.
I know I’ve got a lot of things to explain in one poem but let
me try. See, I
realise to you all this technology seems scary,
like you’ll never grasp what it’s really all about,
but let me give you the run down.
Kickstarter is creation,
while Tumblr’s just for fun,
Change.org is for petitions
as aspirational as greeting the sun.
MySpace lies dormant
like the fires of Mount Doom,
and Instagram’s alright
though it’s mostly pictures of my room.
Facebook’s for making plans really
and promoting my poetry page.
LinkedIn I never use,
Likely never will, at this stage.
Gumtree’s where I found my job,
though I know yours was a lot easier.
Walked right in, shook his hand.
Grinned, said ‘pleased to meet ya.’

See that’s the difference.
You were born in an age where things came so much easier to the white man,
and I am here to tell you the revolution is not done,
and it’s not for you.
It’s for the black man on his knees at gunpoint. For the Muslims now afraid to leave their home.
For every little girl
catcalled on the way home from school.
This revolution is at
our fingertips, one click away,
and thanks to selfies I now have the self confidence
to fucking pull the trigger.
Is that why you’re afraid?
Is that why
you’re so angry?

Because we will be more
than you ever could be.

You sent men to the moon competitively,
so imagine what suns we’d see
with our fresh minds and new technology.

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