The mobile phone in History

To split conversation into twins

A prince’s heart, a pauper heartier

And send them through mall parts

On horse and cart one afternoon,

Cafes, shops, the bustard crowds

The middle class spread by order

The worker class renowned for din

The echo from stares of shoppers

The wise perjury of salesmanship

What is it, in their secret machine?

Tricks and dabblers in mystery

By audition and red conspiracy

To tame the art of solitude

And talk through tongue’s fingers

Satellite fibre, a talker’s ware

Marketed as a mobile not be

Unless the prince can prove

His superiority over his poor

And the pauper has one too!

 

And runs the bill into overtime

Brother, spare a pauper’s lot?

No? The twins rejoin and plot

Seek roots in the prostrate class 

Perhaps in a rift in history

Mired in fierce Scots clannery

Surnames do mean so little

The lines of genes reversed

Back toward that profanity

All are equal before the king

Starting with the privileged.

 

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