The freeways are humming with wireless WAPping,
And thrumming with fingers incessantly tapping
On palmtops and laptops and cellular keys,
As we drive with our midbrains and steer with our knees.

The joe in the Jag is composing an e-mail
To explain why he’s late to a furious female,
Whom he’ll presently placate by pointing his Palm
To get two dozen roses from Flowers.com.

There’s an M&A gal in a 528
Who is dotting the i’s on a deal that will mate
The nation of Greece with a content provider,
As she’s merging herself, with the center divider.

Every Jack in his Jeep, every Jill in her Hyundai,
Is communing like mad with the Spiritus Mundi:
They are holding their phones in their teeth while they punch in
The name of the joint they’re reserving for luncheon;
They get quotes from Lord Byron, or Chemdex and Chiron,
Oblivious all to the sound of the siren;
They are checking their flights,
As they whiz through red lights,
While an oncoming semi is flashing its brights…
If you’re holding some Nokia or 3Com, I’d park it.
I’ve a feeling success has been killing their market.

Geoffrey Nunberg1
April 17, 2000