second hand bright ghosts collide,
lighting up our motorways in sparks
of emerald and indigo. Disruption
in the supply chain is our mantra,
repeated often to become meaningless.
Fish is mostly off the menu now
hidden currents flourish incandescent.
I barely think about my death machine
despite piloting it twice daily.
Watched by an arrogant pigeon,
I flex my fingers, ready to push
the correct button at the correct time.
I have trained for this all my life.
An email arrives with a cruel squawk:
‘Do your best. Fire is still needed.
Please answer these questions asap:
- How many sunflower seeds would replace your body?
- How long until cargo containers become sentient?
- What government mandated checks must you perform on each wasabi packet?’
I throw another spectral log into the hearth
watch it flicker like growing grass.