Tech

by drew kalbach

She can drive stick but only after midnight.
She straddles the gear shift and watches deer watching her headlights.
Other shadows come into view
and we name them: elephant, elf, man with no arms,
man with very large hat,

man with all-night convenience store refilling the coffee pots and slurpee machines.
The cars park for free and don't move for weeks
and when they finally start they sound like
operah singers with pneumonia.

Eggs are left in bushes
as a sign for people to have public nude pic-nics.

There is no fourth of July here, there is no July, instead we use
twigs to keep track of time, it is currently
long pointy plus small green bud.
She likes to light our calendar on fire then ask us the time.
We race each other with smoke:

whoever inhales the most and vomits the fastest wins.
The prize for second place is not vomiting.

She wants to know how technology can complicate things.
I show her coffee beans and I show her an automatic coffee machine
then I ask her to bake a cake.