Have a Little Faith

Faith says Facebook does a body good.
All that contact does the job, all that
rubbing against your privacy wears off the rough edges.
Pretty soon you’ll be smooth, and no one will know you.
Then the offers will come in, once you’re
superficial. Once that happens you can find a friend
who’ll be salty when you’re salty, sweet when you’re sweet.
It’ll be something else, you’ll want to roll in it
as if it were a sugar scrub.

Faith tells this to everyone. The world
revolves and the names you’ve borne go with it, sliding
across the surface of things until they strike against people
who think they once knew you. They’ll drop a line
and you’ll respond and Faith will be proved right, as she always is,
as you desperately move your bumps around until they mesh with theirs.
Everyone’s getting smoother these days. Everyone’s a matter of fact
until they’re called on their history, and then
the tumbling begins: you’ll make yourself shiny,
tell yourself that this time
it’ll work. The past is past until it strokes you
and you bloom like a supermodel, like a genie
looking for wishes to toss away.