Perhaps the term 'pushing daisies' should be re-termed for the 21st century. The irony is that pushing daisies has long been a metaphor for death, but now the daisies themselves are dying. Maybe the new term should be, 'pushing concrete.' In my poem I touch on some fads which were popular in the nineties. For the most part, they were real, concrete objects that you could see and play with. My generation has grown-up, and the toys have been replaced from concrete to abstract. Tomagatchi's were the borderline toy, perhaps. You could hold them in your hand (or on your bell bottom belt loops), but there was still a screen involved (albeit a few bits). Kids were obsessed with this toy, but I'm not sure if it was really the toy they were obsessed with, or just the screen. Within the screen was a 'real' alien-animal-pet-baby- type thing that you needed to feed, play with, and basically nurture before its high-pitched beeps of neglect cried out. These kids have graduated from the tomagatchi screen to the computer screen, but perhaps the need to play, nurture, and love is still felt through this medium. Like the fads, the non-electronic, physical toy is becoming dangerously endangered, as is our connection with anything real. I hope there are still some damn daisies left to push for the next generation.
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