“Little Boy, go out and play:
The sun is shining bright today!”
But he passed his youth away
Indoors and learned to do without
To plug in, log on, tune out.
“Senior prom comes up this spring.
Now doesn’t that mean anything?
Why not give that girl a ring?”
He had a date: to sit about
And plug in, log on, tune out.
Done with school and lucky he,
Landed a job, one-two-three
In Internet technology:
It sounded like a surefire win
Getting paid for plugging in.
Then he moved out to the sticks,
Worked at home from eight to six,
Nights and weekends, got his kicks
From chat rooms he would dream upon
Plugging in and logging on.
Years and decades passed him by.
His beard’s grown thick, his grass grown high.
There he lives and there he’ll die.
He does not wonder, does not doubt,
But plugs in, logs on, tunes out.