--©2001, W.A. Seaver
In the first place...
In the first place, it was cold.
The stars hung in the blackness like ice
and distant sounds slid to our ears across
the blanket of snow.
We stood behind the truck in the cold, in
breathing air so bitingly frigid that it
was almost painful,
and we watched the stars through clouds of
waiting for something to change.
The twenty-first century we were promised
arrived looking just like the twentieth.
The sleek and clean future foretold in our
remained trapped between the covers of fantasy
There are no flying cars.
We are the old people.
We are the new people.
We are the same people,
unchanged from before.