who’s a motorcyclist from Quebec.

A Denise who longs for a washing machine

that doesn’t use electricity. They’re following

a Denise who likes Texas Hold’em. A Denise

from California who has cancer. They’re

monitoring a feed from a Denise

who’s a whiz at Information Technology.

A Denise who has a thing for Mohammed Ali

and Toby Keith.

That’s because this Denise

is not on Facebook or X or Insta or anything

else. This Denise wants to be free

from data breaches and privacy violations.

Though I’m only human. I can’t help but wonder

about all the love—hearts and likes—

or vitriol I’ve missed as I stare at a stranger

who’s staring at me, no screen to mitigate

anything. I reach out my hand for a shake

in this beautifully gritty, germy reality.