the holy church of Apple
an October Monday
A hundred people…
Everyone is waiting,
Well, most are.
Waiting for
The geniuses:
Those employees
Deemed worthy
To tell us why
Our silicon idols no
Longer respond to
Our pokes, swipes,
Presses, and prods.
They are the
high priests of
Our digital worship.
Bless my device,
Father, for I
Have sinned.
We are all,
Each of us,
Trapped in
digital purgatory.
Our coins tinkle
As they spill on
The floor in
our eagerness
To buy
Our indulgences.
A few today
Are new to our religion.
They browse the
Sacred art shop
For an icon
They can call their own.
But it is not theirs.
None of this is.
We pay exorbitant costs
just to be in the collective.
Salvation
One app
At a time.
The neophyte converts
don’t know the secret
We devout followers do:
That it is already too late.
Once you drink the wine,
(even a sip)
you are a lifelong drunkard,
a rollicking adherent
to the cult of Apple.
We don’t even bother
to argue our superiority
any longer…
We know critical mass
was reached long ago.
This is why most of us
In church today are
happy to be here,
Loved by digital god.
