Ode to the Future
Parable, palpable present tense, we love it
like bon bons, let's see, now, let's gorge--
smog! births! maps! trees!
drones! traffic! sleep! spam!
terrorists! cold! blossoms! decay! massacres!
Everything! present, present, present
but the past. We don't believe in the past,
but last winter's clothes in our closets!
women who were diddled with as daughters!
ex-lovers in the neighborhood!
unhip diction! noticeable flab! and proms not attended!
and echoes and echoes of these echoes in others!
We work hard, oh we work hard to trick the past. Try
Slow food, night school, EMDR, Letitia Baldrige,
biofeedback, psychostimulants, our own fat, anything, oh, god,
anything, meaning we do believe something's building
every minute into a wave of excess roaring
like a football-inspired crowd, our days,
too much food for our present tense guts.
Horrors aside, I ask for your help with nurturing
our ultimate self-defense weapon looming larger
but less focused every day we try to pin it down,
the imagined, shrink-wrapped signifier we believed
from the sacrifice of virgins to gas bombs we could buy,
someone we're dying to know, you, our future.