Are you addicted to your phone?

In the doctor’s office waiting room
a masked man leans over and says to his wife,

Some people just have to be on their phones all the time,
as I begin writing a poem on mine. With barely

a thought, I tuck away the phone and retrieve
notebook and pen from my satchel, realizing

that I must look to most people as if I’m
texting or hooked on social media or some app,

which, in a way, I am. But the word cascade
has begun. I imagine that people might think

similarly if they see me walking my neighborhood
talking into my phone—another addict, they might

scoff, which, in a way, is true. They have no idea—
as I did not—how this newfangled technology

allows for spontaneous creativity at odd times
without having to pull out pen and paper—

which also can be rude and obvious—
so a poet with words burbling from the brain

like fresh water falling over a rocky lip
can quickly capture them in a friendly receptacle—

before they splash into nothingness,
before they disappear into forever.