Instagram Aversion
Once I’d loved your playful cats’ paws
And their kitchen bin-lid doings,
And the dog’s destruction of your soft furnishings.
I was easily addicted to the clever recipes
I’d never cook, but craved a look at your makings,
Until this week, when finding your reality among the AI fakes
Became too time-consuming, when time is currency.
A gorilla swinging from a branch that broke
In front of his laughing mate, left his fingers
Still clinging to the stump, an editing mistake in the fiction,
And a man’s full tonne of stretchered flesh,
Barely clothed against our aerial view
Being craned from a top-floor American window
Appeared almost convincing, but AI editing
Meant that my attention had just been snatched in the lie
Of his gargantuan size. So now
I don’t believe your achievements and doubt your postings.
For the first time, I have no interest in Instagram
As the AI fakery of others obscures the reality
That used to so engage me.
