The Facebook is Excited and Sad
       

The Facebook tells me
of dead Dog and Cat
and dead Mother and Father
and the sudden loss of
Brother. The Facebook tells me
Baby is getting new lungs.
The Facebook is angry
because of Bad Parking
and tells me who to blame —
the State, Micro-Aggressors,
Screaming Neighbors.
The Facebook wants to know
If it should call the cops on them.
The Facebook thanks me
for all the kind wishes.
It is always the Facebook's
Birthday. Always.
The Facebook loves This Man.
The Facebook wants me to
love him too.
The Facebook is going to set
the record straight
and if I don't like it,
the Facebook wants me
to unfriend and unfriend
and unfriend. The Facebook
is deeply offended
by compliments. The Facebook
wants to tell me it's
exercising and hitting its
weight goals. Look: I am
sweaty. Look: I am pretty.
Look: This is 40.
Look:
Sometimes the Facebook
will be Cryptic but Not Cryptic
Enough. It will want to kill
itself. The Facebook wants me
to want it, to save it, to love it, to
Mother it. To be it. To be
in it. To fuck it. To death it.
And I say, I'm so sorry.
Congratulations. Don't do it.
Don't do it. I'm so sorry to hear...
Pretty! Pretty! Don't do it.
I'm so sorry to hear...Happy
Birthday! Happy Birthday!
Happy Birthday!

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Copyright © 2020 Julianna Baggott All rights reserved
from The South Carolina Review
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission