The back of a Google Pixel
Each morning, in foul weather or fair,
I still walk down to the river
to make doubly sure it’s still there,
still flowing resolutely east to west,
dividing Ohio from Kentucky,
the liberal North from the conservative South
as far as my bleary eyes can see,
and even farther for the hawks on high.
When I’m assured nothing’s changed,
that no tug’s pushing four long barges
against the flow, as if deranged,
I turn to the business at hand:
my Google Pixel, with messages
that tell me what the day presages.