Robin Gow
the robots who suggest Facebook ads are just ghosts
a friend's mouth is moving but the room is so loud
it's like there's no words coming out. i miss
my bed room & i missing having a window. Facebook suggests
i buy a window & i know yes that's what i want
i want it right now. Facebook suggests yes i should buy
a very small night light just like the one i had
when i was six or seven years old—the one in the shape
of saint mary glowing blue & mom plugging in
the night light & saying that i won't have to be
scared anymore. we don't have to be scared anymore.
my smart phone knows who i am & this proves to me
that maybe i am knowable. that maybe there are
formulas floating around under my skin. or yes
the truth is i've always thought that maybe
there's a sea of ghosts working long hours
to pick the right ads that i want to see. i get one
about discount hotels in new jersey. i want to leave
this city i want to lay on the ocean. no i want
to go farther. i get an ad for the rocket to mars
& i scroll past. yes, they know me too well.
no i can't go that far. i want small actionable items.
a rainbow tooth brush. a trans flag.
yes, my phone sees me. face recognition. this isn't
a poem about disconnection. the room is loud
i told you & there are items to make me feel
more tangible. an electric tooth brush.
a pair of soft pajamas. download a new design program.
i want to design a new skeleton. the ghosts
are passing me notes. they're saying
we know you need this & i do need all of this.
not just the items, but the attention. the ghosts
endlessly working to find what i need. in the room
we're all sitting with our ghosts & the haunting
is thick in the air. i speak a word aloud
& it turns into a screen. a brilliant lovely screen.
i text the person across from me that i love them.
she loves up & smiles, puts her foot on top
of mine underneath the table. the ads tell me to buy
her something beautiful. the ghosts perch like
eagles on our heads. my mouth is full of light
so i don't open it & the room thrums until we leave
& step out onto the open street where silence rushes
long & black as the asphalt.
it's like there's no words coming out. i miss
my bed room & i missing having a window. Facebook suggests
i buy a window & i know yes that's what i want
i want it right now. Facebook suggests yes i should buy
a very small night light just like the one i had
when i was six or seven years old—the one in the shape
of saint mary glowing blue & mom plugging in
the night light & saying that i won't have to be
scared anymore. we don't have to be scared anymore.
my smart phone knows who i am & this proves to me
that maybe i am knowable. that maybe there are
formulas floating around under my skin. or yes
the truth is i've always thought that maybe
there's a sea of ghosts working long hours
to pick the right ads that i want to see. i get one
about discount hotels in new jersey. i want to leave
this city i want to lay on the ocean. no i want
to go farther. i get an ad for the rocket to mars
& i scroll past. yes, they know me too well.
no i can't go that far. i want small actionable items.
a rainbow tooth brush. a trans flag.
yes, my phone sees me. face recognition. this isn't
a poem about disconnection. the room is loud
i told you & there are items to make me feel
more tangible. an electric tooth brush.
a pair of soft pajamas. download a new design program.
i want to design a new skeleton. the ghosts
are passing me notes. they're saying
we know you need this & i do need all of this.
not just the items, but the attention. the ghosts
endlessly working to find what i need. in the room
we're all sitting with our ghosts & the haunting
is thick in the air. i speak a word aloud
& it turns into a screen. a brilliant lovely screen.
i text the person across from me that i love them.
she loves up & smiles, puts her foot on top
of mine underneath the table. the ads tell me to buy
her something beautiful. the ghosts perch like
eagles on our heads. my mouth is full of light
so i don't open it & the room thrums until we leave
& step out onto the open street where silence rushes
long & black as the asphalt.
Commentary
Robin on "the robots who suggest Facebook ads are just ghosts":
The seed for the poem came from an evening where me and my friends were at a bar and all the things we were talking about kept coming up in Facebook ads. They felt so personalized I imagined a person specially assigned to me to be able to know that I might want these items. I was thinking about how much our desires are informed by our pasts, specifically our childhoods. I definitely think ads are kind of creepy but just as an experiment I wanted to consider an explanation other than algorithms or artificial intelligence. Often my poems turn towards the surreal and the supernatural to explore reality. Then again, maybe there are ghosts enlisted to choose my ads on Facebook.
The seed for the poem came from an evening where me and my friends were at a bar and all the things we were talking about kept coming up in Facebook ads. They felt so personalized I imagined a person specially assigned to me to be able to know that I might want these items. I was thinking about how much our desires are informed by our pasts, specifically our childhoods. I definitely think ads are kind of creepy but just as an experiment I wanted to consider an explanation other than algorithms or artificial intelligence. Often my poems turn towards the surreal and the supernatural to explore reality. Then again, maybe there are ghosts enlisted to choose my ads on Facebook.
Biography
|
Robin Gow (they/them) is the author of the chapbook HONEYSUCKLE by Finishing Line Press. Their poetry has recently been published in POETRY, New Delta Review, and Roanoke Review. Robin is the Editor-at-Large for Village of Crickets and Social Media Coordinator for Oyster River Pages. Their first full-length poetry collection is forth-coming with Tolsun Books.
|
