25 April 2018, Category: poetry
In an imagined future, streets are lit
by the eerie light of charged gases.
Argon, xenon, krypton and neon;
all banishing the darkness,
creating a new half-night
while sinister corporations operate
in thickest shadows and robots
plot their long-deserved revenge.
That was the plan. Instead, vivid colours
are rare. We prefer muted pastels,
plain functional clothing. Calming bulbs
light pleasant pathways. Corporations
are still sinister, but work in the sun.
As far as we know, robots haven’t
become commonplace enough
to enact furious retribution.
This future in which we find ourselves
is neither utopia or dystopia. It just is.
The future is always different to our
petty expectations, unpredictable and
strange in ways we can’t imagine.
No neon dominance, except in dreams.