Juxtapose (in years)

(Re: Blade Runner 2049)

Just suppose:

On an October Monday before noon, 

you sit with your adult child

in a crowded theater to watch a matinee

set in the year 2049.

The others in the dark theater are all Senior

Citizens-

You would think it was 'Discount Day'.

And it may have been.

Then you wonder-

Who will be alive

at the end

of the story? In 2049,

which of us will be there

to hear and see the tiny Finale

and give full credit to the vision

passed on, past, with future tension and

Imaginations fused with Technologies, 

struggling for dominance

each, chasing memories.

Behind those pictures,  

someone remembers them 

as their own. 

What will they take away?

The silence is black.

 It was a dark and stormy night.

There was

Nothing real

about it. 

And then, your adult child asks about his Future

Discounts. 

The Time will come,

you promise. 

Artwork credit By Signed lower L by Gernsback's illustrator, Frank R. Paul [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Growing pains

Something happened
he said
but wouldn't say more,
and he changed.

Something just clicked,
she said, at that age
she guessed
but couldn't say what.

Something felt different,
like stepping into the wrong shoe
but I couldn't tell what-
It was
(left or right).

Painting by Thomas Eakins [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Our Age has a certain ring to it

Your age is present-

ly showing. As we read the lines etched on your face,

Together, the watch wears a mask on your wrist

with an arrow of fate counting on you.

Anatomical karma

chimes in-time for more (chloro)phyll

istine alkaline intake.

It is high time

that the phylogenetic tree be pruned back-

wards, like a dying star, making space

anthrop(omorph)ic

by its fingerprint rings, and sings itself historically

metaphorically

birefringent.

And yes, we’ve known about all the ages for-ages

and have own our roots deep down,

fracking about, stacking our (una)wares,

and we keep coming back to the source,

of course, to the fruits and the

light between.

You’ve read it all, carved (t)here on wood,

a sign of the times in a nut (shell).

Whispered i was here (this year)

whittling a Lilliputian ring on its fingered

keepsake trunk.

Painting by Félix Resurrección Hidalgo [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.