The Sentient Donkey

The screen gives me blank looks We don't talk any more I'm not sure we ever did It tells me nothing of you Of what you are now Of what I am to do in the next five minutes. Helen says you've moved away Perhaps to Miami, or San Francisco Jessica says nothing As usual But I wonder if you are under Albert's crypt With that Malbec and those straw-coloured shoes. The screen is not a donkey pushing against the fence to see if I've got food The donkey is not an expressionless void wanting nothing offering nothing The screen is dumb, engaging no one in your absence.