Poem: May 9, 2019

Bottom of the Box

I think it is safe to say that
the optimism of the 20th century,
the wonder and giddy anticipation
with which Disney and Sagan
framed the future on the television
consoles in my grandparents'
living rooms, may be in decline.

We've seen thriving markets crash,
and great wars descend into ongoing,
simmering conflict. We've built
a powerful marketplace of lies
and normalized villainy, while
rolling our eyes at any mention
of values. What values? Yours?

The shining cities of the Jetsons
and Tomorrowland, the floating lives
of leisure, the United Nations and
space exploration, have been
replaced with the tribal self-interest
of brand loyalties and slick marketing,
the stark ingenuity of consumerism.

The future is less to be welcomed
than feared, mitigated if we can.
Whole island nations soon to be
ankle deep with worried eyes scanning
the horizon. Our lives increasingly
sold to the cold purposes of machines,
committed in service to a system.

Perhaps it's best that we abandon
the folly of control, watch the chaos
unfold, and let what is be laid low.
After all, the Kennedys and Kings
carried the taste of dust bowls and
Jim Crowe, of trenches and fox holes.
What if they weren't so sure as they had hope?