Fully half of my Instagram followers now appear to be sex workers—probably inevitable for a single male in his 50s—but I’m fascinated by how few ever unfollow despite never getting a follow request back. Since I generally use IG to share poems, perhaps I should re-think how I picture my audience as a poet. It seems a growing percentage might inhabit the demimonde—ukiyō in Japanese. The floating world. Perhaps its modern inhabitants still have a taste for haiku? Or perhaps some or all of my oversexed young followers might actually be bots.
And perhaps in the future ALL my readers will be robots, he thinks, reminding himself suddenly of one of Andrei Codrescu’s droll commentaries on NPR from 20 years ago.
not butter-
but bitternut husks
her concave cheeks
