The Internet Interloper

Introductory addendum, explanation, or whatever: Yesterday I wrote this on the plane from Milan to Boston. I thought it came out pretty funny, which was my intention. But it seems I may have hit a chord we all think about. But, as a favor to me, try to read this post lightly. I'd hate to have you visit and end up depressed for the day. ):

They'll track you down in your own backyard--
pirates who have stalked you from another continent,
following your weekend restaurants and family reunions.

They'll break in through the basement on Sunday night
and tie you to the bedpost while they open drawers
and carry your television into the rented van.

They'll use your credit cards,
cash your bank accounts,
and make a few smooth moves so your hairstyle is theirs.

All because you have posted your entire life on the internet.
Because your e-mails and blogs have found their way
to Mad Max in Memphis and a 68 year old trucker in Kalamazoo.

They'll open your refrigerator
and pull out the special mozarella
from the second shelf rear

And marvel at the Indian placemats with the Mexican colors.
Then pull the red rickety chair up to the little round table
Commenting, by the way, that your dining room looks exactly like you described it.

That will be bad enough.

But when they ask you to sit down and break bread--one friend to another--
or carry the suitcase to the familiar guestroom,
When that happens,

I will say the same words with great syllabic pronounication and emphasis.
I will lecture and cajole and implore and direct
While your furniture is carried out the back door.

And you--you will politely and impatiently wait
Until the commotion dies down so you can get on-line
and share this fascinating adrenalin-shaking event.
"Dear friends", you will say.
"Guess who I met today?"