What a pleasant snow-globe we find ourselves enclosed within today. The little people inside are marginally less cheery in appearance than those typically found in the gift shop but the overall effect is largely the same.
I wrote this piece a couple of weeks ago in a peculiar mind-set. I seem to recall picturing some ghastly post apocalyptic style “drought world” (does anyone know if Kevin Costner is available?) having read some articles concerning water woes abroad. Or possibly I was simply writing the new ad for 7-up…
I titled this one, “A Trifle Warm”, March 28, 2018.
The sun beats down upon the Earth
Scorching all life from death to birth
We hide beneath the cosmic trees
The Sun God cares not for our pleas
Water’s touch a mirage long-lost
Crackling flesh is illusion’s cost
There’s been no rain for many years
The last drops come from widow’s tears.
First of all allow me to clarify that I’m an equal opportunist when it comes to the dystopian future’s choice of who gets horribly eviscerated. It could just as easily be a husband’s tears, just didn’t fit into the rhyme scheme. Besides which, women clearly being the superior sex, it’s us dumb men who are vastly more likely to go wandering out into the wasteland to be cruelly eaten by some varietal of winged sand creature anyway. Don’t worry, everyone perishes in the end of the story so it’s really a moot point. Except Kevin Costner, who can never die. I believe it is addressed come the sequel.
-Alex Blaikie
dreadpoetssobriety
A fractured mind held together by cellophane and some used tack.
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