Here at the pinnacle of human progress,
they say life’s a journey, not a destination.

Which may be true, though the trip’s
a humdrum loop, lap after lap—days of obligation

through which I am distracted mostly by persistent
frustration with the modern pursuit of happiness:

tech glitches that smudge the promise
of an easier life—nonresponsive car fobs,

unrecyclable coffee pods, hand-activated
toilet lids I wave at to no avail,

robot vac hung up on a bootlace,
tethered but tugging till it dies.

So many unasked-for absurdities—
the Apple TV remote, Hulu’s interface,

those little stickers stuck to fruit,
drug ads listing all the side effects,

two-day shipping no one needs,
crowdfunded hospital bills and

the cracked phone screens that reflect
the plain lies of capitalism back at me.

But still I scroll right up to
the rainbow wheel of death,

right up to hackable pacemakers, hackable
baby monitors, hackable voting machines.

How long will I sip so nonchalantly from a wonder
flask that keeps my water cold for days

for days for days that dull the senses?
How long till someone sees my participation

in the rigmarole generates the heat
that makes the whole thing move?