If memories were as easy to
Delete as the photographs on my phone,
I probably wouldn’t be happy.
Losing the past becomes as
Horrifically easy as
Just an uncoordinated finger.
New Age amnesia
Has become my downfall
Dyspraxia and tremors
Leave me shaking with anger
As precious memories
Of concerts, friends and my dog
Disappear into the digital aether.
Technology is supposed to make things easier,
An extension of ourselves
Keeping the memories that overflow
In a safe space.
But time and time again, my phone has
Proved it is just as fucked up and broken as me.
Or on the rare occasion that
An android update has not annihilated my fragile memory,
I have only myself and Google to blame.
The delete icon next to the upload icon
Without an option to cancel
Feels like a challenge for my broken hands.
I can feel your criticism already,
Why didn’t you back them up,
Why didn’t you set it up automatically?
It was, but because my phone is me,
It was too much and caused frequent crashes.
Now, my phone has as much memories as I do.
And the moral of the story is
Fuck Android.
This question and poem come are based on an early draft of a poem called “Digital Amnesia”