Connected

I've grown accustomed to the network
always in communication
whether home or whether work
contacting all my far relations

So now in basements, trains, and cars
I rage, rage, against the dying of the bars.

My course is clear when I've been thwarted
by a technical malfunction,
youthful lessons long departed
no longer lend me least compunction.

Thus once more, as is my habit,
I shake and rap and smack the gadget.

Assaulting atoms can't succeed
(I seem to lack some learning power)
phone's not at fault; I think I need
a stronger signal from a tower.

Seeking signal or relief I wander far
And rage, rage, for I cannot find a bar.