The distance between their sanity
and winter, is their ears pinned
to cackling bogeymen on podiums,
spewing rabies on the microphone.
Fools buy the viral lie.
They, too, thought friendship is a list
and wear a new language, probably a second,
third, learnt from ranking tongues, boxing races,
licking white ice cream, factory flavoured.
Pleas lean on cold shoulders.
They’re neither Barney nor Elmo,
but got time for niceties, in random verse,
begging for likes or celebrity comments,
tagging first worlds, galaxies away.
Thoughts perched on fences.