It’s not often that
An image on television
Can provoke deep
From-the-belly laughter

It was a cheeky segment
Wednesday on the Daily Show
About a man with 9,000 friends
And his world on MySpace

So it got to me to thinking
Recalling a profile when
I first landed scripted
I’m not a friend whore

So I cautiously left my
Little nest of a place
And accumulated some friends
Here and there in the
Small little corners and crevices

Like the old brick farmhouse in
Normandy where as a child
I would find and build my
Collection of snails each having
Its own moniker, though some
Probably sharing the same name
So difficult to tell them apart
Avatars really in this child’s mind
But each I hoped, fantasized
Had its own identity

So like that special little box
Where I kept my magnificent creatures
Feeding them blades of grass
Nurturing as best I knew how
Some snails grew weary
No longer interacting, sharing

And I would set those free
For the little world, my special box
I had built and placed them in
Was dreamy and fanciful for me
but an enclosure for them

My friends, les escargots
Doting them with affection
Attention and caress
But not all 30 or more of
My precious pets were happy there
And it took a full, long summer
For me to appreciate and get that

Salut to all my nine
thousand tribal friends
Like Mister. T,
Because he’s Asian
And drinks tea

There are other places,
With preening and bravado
But there is no abuse in that
Tribes creates communities
That provision of fellowship

My friends are
Alluring but far
Remote but tactile
Virtual but soulful
Expressive and playful

That is why I’m here
Even in the quietest moments
The signature clicks of keystrokes
Each word a gesture
Every missive my love,
purchase and sustenance