One-Star Review

Christopher Spaide

Amazed, to be perfectly honest, that Amazon
Could have gone this amiss in their mission of amassing

Everything, from these solipsistic earbuds by Bose
Now wadding my noggin with the antonym of noise

Down to those somehow always already vintage Converse
The pitch-perfect ever-loving green of conifers,

Delirious with whatnot, I could seriously waterboard my Dell
Inspiron, for which read: non-stick two-bit voodoo doll

Vindictively tickled for mothy tech, malcontent, Expedia
Ex-promises, mediocre moldy media,

That whole fishbowl of blowfish puffed up face-to-Facebook
And bespoke spam ghostwritten in kittenish Uzbek

And I resist (as prefab phrases refresh themselves like Google
Autocorrupt suggestions) the insuppressible urge to gurgle

A spontaneous spillover of feeling, sponsored by Halliburton,
As follows: a small part of me twangs a song as wronged as Dolly Parton

By the day’s natural flavors of dystopian flattening, an IHOP-
timism of difference, whereby culture compounds to a cyclops

Eye, tearing up from fluffy suds of Johnson & Johnson
Human Conditioner, within whose fishy lens we put our genes on

One egg at a time—the self, can we agree, skimpy sugarcoating on a Kellogg-
Brand blandness, sink or swim your skim milk, glug-glug

Part of me gobbles that up, caught dead or aloof as Lockheed
Drones smooth out the falling sky above [REDACTED],

Glad, admittedly, if with one rapturous swoop of a MasterCard
My appetite is ruined, my damned demand massacred,

If some system can click with my prefrontal Netflix
Pixel for pixel, earth’s crumbly hardware with the in- and outflux

Of signals casually, causally hooking up over an OkCupid
Of promiscuous synapses to make a mind staticky, preoccupied,

Turned increasingly, encyclopedically, on—to censor the Pornhub
Proverb (ahem) “whatever butters your corncob”—

Ergo, I can no more quit window-shopping the world’s QVC
Soundstage, always a paywall away from privacy,

Much less stand still as invisible hands rattle my Riteaid
Bottles raucous as maracas, than I can be warmly rebooted,

Go global, witness my nonsense song sign with Sony
And live-stream losslessly from Zanzibar to Arizona,

Shapeless as Americana, strapped atop a new Toyota
Ad campaign now trained on you, and yes, you too,

You two steps ahead, your fateful footfall GPS-tracked by UPS
Trucks struck out down the ropiest routes of these trophy utopias

And up in the veritable cloud, my verse traversing Verizon
Interference to clear the very ozone, rising

Through care-free cage-free home-free air to the azure-vested Wal-Mart
Greeter in the sky, wiped of all attachments save my well-wrought

Earnestness—high hopes crashing, I Xerox a Xerox
Of these histrionic-heroics-meet-hermetic-hysterics:

“I wanted to like it,” begins my barbaric Yelp
Review, one-star-spangled, but unable to help

Myself to more, I blow up a Ziploc,
Grab bag of winds, with bulk-bought, choked-up talk.