Feed

by Jared M. Campbell

Feed  by Jared M. Campbell

Remember when social media was about sandwiches? 
A high school classmate would post a picture of the sandwich 
he had for lunch with a caption like “#epiclunch”
and I might have felt some envy, or some peevish annoyance,
a temptation to comment “this is not newsworthy,” 
or, if all the stars aligned and I happened to be 
in a charitable mood, I might have felt some happiness, 
a recognition that although I couldn’t feel 
the crunch of the toasted bread, the crispness of the bacon,
the pickle’s snap, the tomato’s soft, slippery juiciness,
I don’t need to go into detail, you’ve had sandwiches,
although I hadn’t had this sandwich, someone I knew
or used to know had, and you know what, good for him. 
Social media was a daily reminder that someone 
was happy about something unremarkable and badly lit. 
  
But now my feed is people I don’t know reminding me
who to be angry at and who to be afraid of
and for years I was waiting for everyone to get sick
of fear and anger, to say, “Oh my! I am so full,
I couldn’t have another bite. I’m going on a diet,” 
and take January off, because I still think
life is like sandwiches and that if you have too much 
of something you’ll get full, but anger’s not a sandwich,
if you get too angry it makes you hungry for anger,
and then you feed your anger and it makes you hungrier,
and so on until the only people on social media 
I actually know are family members regurgitating 
opinions designed to make me angry. The human heart’s
capacity for anger is fathomless, I realize, 
just as I realize I haven’t done anything tactile for,
let’s see, twenty lines? Ok here I go,
I’m going to observe my breath. I’m touching my keyboard.
I’m touching the keys and, yeah. I feel nothing.