with sculpted spontaneity, haute couture sincerity,
synthetic joy, and ads that tickle up our hopes and needs,
the Wily Narcissist draws us loyal serfs into his fortresses
of gleam and glam and glitter; yet in these stark
and arid citadels are myriad spontaneous connections:
strangers trusting other strangers with their stories
in pharmacies and hair salons; the ad hoc fellowship
around the public TV monitors, anxious for any news
or commenting while watching sport; elsewhere
on the premises someone makes a triple-zero call
while others rush to comfort and support; all showing
Homo Emptor but a bastard travesty of who we really are
© the Revd Jim McPherson
Image Wikipedia
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