Zoomers' Guide

First, the internet connection--one hopes.
Then the app, though people disagree about its necessity.
The app is from the App Store.
You have an account, right?
Forgot your username? Or the password?
No matter. The machine will find them,
but you have to ask. It needs to verify.
You need to go to your email to confirm.
Got it? The machine asks:
"Are you a human?" (Sometimes I wonder.)
Username and password in hand,
click and pause; watch the spinning rainbow wheel,
then open. Magically, an icon appears.

Click. What now?
Join a meeting? That's what I'm here for.
Meeting ID--now where's that invitation?
Back to my email, zooming back.
A password? I didn't see a password.
There! In one-point type beneath the meeting ID.
Suddenly, my face explodes onto the screen.
"Join video." "Join audio" "Gallery view"
and there I am, at a Brady Bunch cocktail party:
everyone talking at once--cacophony,
until the host seizes control,
finds the "Mute" button,
and calls for order.

Business conducted,
he opens the floor again.
People ring in, and ring out,
appear and disappear.
Cell phones sound, Dogs bark.
There is feedback from a too-near source.
We alternate between sudden silence
and cross-conversations,
patting ourselves on our collective backs
for achieving conversation,
for producing faces from midair,
for mastering the virtual,
for learning how to zoom.