He used to love her more than his ipad,
pay her more attention than his phone,
but she had given up on that.
Their keys were cracked, faded;
their screen was smudged and scratched;
their battery redundant.
If he were Pinocchio,
he could have planted trees with his lies;
there would have been hope.
As it was, there was nothing for it,
save stepping off and diving.
But could she swim?
by Rebecca L. Atherton
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