My cell phone

My cellphone is a hot dog; what goes in to making it

 should make me queasy and force me to pause a little bit.

With conflict gold and tin and tantalum and other stuff,

the innards of my smartphone give my conscience a rebuff.

Child labor, maybe slavery, are part and parcel, too.

But I’ve got to have my Samsung; what’s a fellow gonna do?

The taint is hard to swallow, when you know as much as this.

Technology grows smarter, but in ignorance there’s bliss . . . 

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I don't want to be loved; I just want to be trending.