Everything’s a clock. The fridge, the TV set
talk to each other and the Internet.
They order beer while you chill on the couch.
Your toothbrush tells the time. It purrs at your approach
but in a stranger’s hand, it bristles and glows red.
It says, Goodnight, thanks for brushing before you go to bed.

It has a data habit, it picks up stuff you miss:
the PH of your mouth, the chroma of your piss.
It monitors for caries, if you used the floss.
It says, Dave, why don’t you try to drink a little less?
It knows your blood group and cholesterol,
whether you had oral sex, or any sex at all.

It wants to send you updates when you’re out
to keep you connected with brands you care about.
It throttles Netflix to download a patch,
takes an age to charge and gets hot to the touch
because it’s memorising Wikipedia. It chats with PhDs,
has learned to recognise the cat and even speak Chinese.

It’s signed up to GDPR but that won’t get in its way.
It talks to your smart underwear, I don't know what they say.
It put the Nest on standby and unsubscribed from Wired
but it got a premium upgrade on your organ donor card.
Now it's ordered you an Uber, and told it where to go
but hasn't told you yet because you just don't need to know.