Cyborg

Got tired of lugging phones around.
I haven't got the pocket space.
A cellphone's now inside my head.
For calls,
I poke my face.

My hand has got a screen implant,
I give my thumb a twist,
Then scroll my palm for hours,
Tapping buttons on my wrist.

My brain connects to wi-fi.
I can text you with a thought.
I search the web on eyelids.
I'm practically a robot.

When analog biology
Meets digital technology,
It ought to be a recipe
for cyber awesome-ology.
But software updates hourly,
A constant drain of battery,
The overflow of memory,
When hackers try to download me,
It's all a cause of misery.

I'd like to pull these gadgets out,
But wires fill my skin throughout.
I can't go back from where I'm at
'Cause no one has an app for that.

-B.C. Byron
Maybe these modifications weren’t such a good idea.
Buy my book here

Laugh if you will, but this type of technology is surely going to become a reality in the next decade. There are engineers working on cyborg technology right now. At the very least, some company is going to offer installing mobile phone chips into the body and there will be some folks willing, and loopy enough, to try it out. I’m not one of those folks.

I get frustrated every time my phone starts a software update that I didn’t ask for, and delayed until it was forced through by the phone maker, right when I want to make a call or check email. Then I’m further frustrated after the software updates complete, finding that all the buttons in my apps have moved around and things generally don’t work the way they did before. I can see a future me struggling to find the call “button” on the screen projecting from my eyes or unable to use the calculator in my brain because the app name has change from “calculator” to “superCalc 2.0” because of one of those obnoxious updates happening in my head. A message pops up in my field vision, obscuring my ability to see the real world in front of me, explaining how much I’m going to enjoy these important new updates to my software. After an hour of re-learning my slightly reconfigured brain interface, I’m finally able to call my mother and calculate the interest on my loan. Then a hacker breaks in and starts downloading my memories. My left ear rings. After frantically poking my nose, cheek, and chin, I finally locate the newly moved button to pick up a call. It’s the memory bank asking if I’ve recently sent my memories of my trip to Mexico to somoene in the Bahamas. I explain that I’ve been hacked and would like those memories refunded. No problem, they say. The bank representative just needs my name and encryption key, which I can no longer provide, because those memories were also stolen by the hacker. Guess it’s goodbye fond memories. During all this, there are flashing advertisements in my eyes telling me to try a new brain malware blocker for only $19.99 per month next to a pop up informing me that other software updates are available for my arms, toes, and right eye… Do you see why I don’t think embedding tech in our bodies is a good idea?

When that cyborg tech does become a reality, I’m hoping this poetic warning is still bouncing around in the 100% natural, purely biological, analog gray matter that your creator gave you. The human brain is an astounding piece of machinery that works nothing like a digital computer. It can do so many things that a computer can’t, and maybe never will. I can’t help but imagine that installing a pile of silicon chips and tiny wires would just hinder your brain, or maybe just change it in ways that are both unexpected and undesirable. Stay human, kids. Cell phones are better kept in pockets, not inside skulls.

Thank You for the Ear Time

Had little worry
A-rolling in my head
Made my shoulders heavy
Filled me up with dread 

Didn't want to share it
And make others worry too
Kept it in my tummy
Kept it hid away from you 

Thought if I ignored it
It might just go away
But it grew and grew inside me -
That worry meant to stay 

It followed me to school
It followed me bed
Made me Captain Grouchy
Made my dinner sit like lead

Then I wrote this poem
Shared my thoughts with you
My tummy's feeling better
My head is clearer too 

So thank you for the ear time
Guess I should have known
Adults can feel your worries
They also have their own

-B.C. Byron
If ear time is all you can offer, it’s enough.
Buy my book here

Worries are a lot like blisters. I got a blister on my heel during a long hike in the mountains. It was mildly irritating. We had a long way still to go, so I figured it was best to just push through the annoyance of that tiny bump inside my shoe. I didn’t do anything to protect it and I didn’t tell the adults in the group, who had first aid kits. Of course, ignoring a blister and continuing to walk on it made the little monster grow. After 2 days of hiking, it doubled in size to about the diameter of a dime. After 3 days, it was huge and really painful. Then it popped and leaked goo into my boot. That really stung and I wanted to cry like my weepy blister, but I continued to tough it out. I could have asked for a special bandage to cover it up and probably prevented it from growing to quarter size. I might not have had to endure a wet sock for the last day of the hike. Obviously, ignoring my blister didn’t work out very well. Don’t let your worries grow and pop like a blister. There’s simply no reason. Bad news doesn’t get better with age and bad feelings don’t always disappear on their own. If your worry is caused by something bad you did, if it’s caused by someone you don’t want to offend, if it’s embarrassing, if telling someone about it makes you feel weak, if you already told everyone it didn’t bother you – none of that matters. Take that rock out of the bottom of your stomach and all the knots out of your shoulders by finding an ear for your concern. Think how you would react if your parents told you something important that they’re worried about. Would you laugh at them or call them wimps? Would you be mad at them? I doubt it. So why do we worry about those things when we are the one sharing?

Share a worry. Share an ear. Don’t carry burdens alone. Adults may not understand what you’re going through, but they will try their best, they will listen, and they will care. That matters so much more than understanding exactly how you feel. You may find that your adult has suffered something similar and can give great advice. That’s a bonus. But a hug and a nod can often bury your stress just as well.

For the adults reading this poem, the same goes to you. It’s okay to share your worries with your kids on occasion. They already know you have them. They already know you’re not perfect. So why not let them know that you trust and love them enough to ask for their ear time, too.