Once upon a midnight dreary, Tinder swiping, buzzed and weary,
I asked Siri about my sushi ordered one hour before.
While I chewed some pretzels, snacking, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my apartment door.
“’Tis my roommate,” I muttered, “walking ‘cross the hardwood floor—
Only this and nothing more.”
Ah, distinctly I remember, sending pictures of my member;
To a girl met last December on some dating app of yore.
Eagerly I wished the morrow; — hunger filling me with sorrow,
Checked my Insta, thought, “Tomorrow, yea, tomorrow—
I’ll try to make it to the organic grocery store.”
Swiping right for evermore.
And the silken, sad, uncertain buzz of each notification
Thrilled me — filled me with anticipation that I’d somehow felt before;
And yet now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating,
“I’m, like, starving, but it’s late and making food is such a chore.
Like, literally starving, but it’s late and making food is such a chore.”
Only this and nothing more.
And the rumbles growing stronger; until I could wait no longer,
“Hey Siri,” said I, “I’m hungry, and so I gently must implore;
But the fact is I was sexting, when so gently came a texting,
Slightly vexing, when it said my sushi’s waiting at my door."
Put my shoes on, went downstairs — and here I opened wide the door;—
Just a flyer, nothing more.
Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there hungry, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams of sushi like some Netflix doc of yore;
But the silence being broken, and my hunger still awoken,
Eye contact made and small talk spoken with the neighbors from next door.
Ran upstairs and found the answer lurking in my nightstand drawer.
Just my Juul and nothing more.
Pacing in my chamber vaping, o’ this night ’twas surely shaping,
Up to be a disappointment more than any that’d come before.
Took my Juul and tried to hit it, guilty but loathe to admit it,
Knew I should quit and yet the pod had no more vape juice held in store.
On the morrow I’d buy a two-pack at the deli right next door.
Quoth the Juul pod, “Nevermore.”
Then my iPhone sat there, silent, and I started feeling violent,
For my hunger had returned much stronger than it’d felt before.
“Though my impatience is growing, Siri, still I am not going
for some ghastly grim and ghoulish sandwich from my corner store!
Tell me when they might be bringing sushi to my apartment door?!”
Quoth the iPhone, “Nevermore.”
Much I marveled, so unhelpful was this virtual assistant,
Though persistent, I could hardly bring myself to ask once more;
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever faced a grueling fate like this without their Juul before.
No tuna rolls nor Tinder matches without their Juul before.
Empty White Claw upon the floor.
And then my pain and my confusion swiftly turned to self-delusion,
As I grasped at some illusion that might help me to ignore—
Pretending hunger everlasting was from intermittent fasting,
Or some master cleanse disaster taken from the fads of yore.
Quaff, oh quaff that awful brew from that cleanse that I abhorred!
Cayenne pepper and lemon, nothing more.
Gripped by hunger and frustration, I tried guided meditation,
Hoping five minutes of Headspace might leave me feeling quite restored.
But my subscription was expired, and my situation dire,
So I got an app that’s free but shows you ads that play before—
Clicking ads for mediocre mobile games that play before—
Stolen data, for evermore.
Then upon the bed and grieving, I betook myself to seething,
“What hath happened to my dinner, I can surely wait no more!”
For my time having spent waited, still without my hunger sated,
Followed fast and followed faster by my tapped out Juul of yore—
Through my throes, composed a tweet to give that delivery app what for—
Quoth my Twitter, “Nevermore!”
“Nevermore,” tweeted I, “will I use again this app I once adored!”
“Perhaps some tempest tossed my sushi to some rocky distant shore?”
This I tweeted, thus defeated, but was very quickly greeted,
By the buzz of a response that left me rattled to my core—
DM’d by a customer service rep in central Bangalore.
He said his name was George.
“Hello, sir!,” said he, “So sorry, but your maki and inari
with extra ginger and tamari never made it out the door.
And though the order was forgotten, we are truly feeling rotten,
Could your forgiveness be gotten? Tell me truly, I implore—
We could offer you a refund and $25 credit, therefore.”
Quoth my Twitter handle, “Score.”
And the Juul is never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
Right next to an empty can of White Claw on my bedroom floor;
While my Tinder still is seeming without a match unless I’m dreaming,
And the Netflix show I’m streaming throws its shadows ‘cross the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall eat leftovers—for evermore!