I Live in The Twenty-First Century

What is a clock but another cheese grater

hacking away at an infinite block of rich,

fermented time? Can you imagine a world

where that clock’s numbers sink down

to nothingness and we feel no danger?

Your mind gets the message but

some worrying organ won’t cooperate.

All our wonderful kitchen utensils

were failed instruments of war. Maybe

if our mothers baked a sweeter bread

their sons would not be so hungry

for blood. Right now, before either of us

forgets, think of a sound purely decorative

like sweet-kisses on poster pin-ups.

I am looking everywhere for a glimpse

of a sign from the bewildered.

Are you as foolishly lavish as me?

You want a low rattling explosion to run

across your skin. Are you as forgetful?

You want all life’s disciplines placed directly

onto your head like a saint’s. Tell me,

are you as bankrupt as me? You wonder

what kind of toaster a moral person

should own? What kind of car

the racist drives? What brand cereal

might the massacres eat? Right now,

before either of us forgets, leave

a note with the date and time that says,

I lived to see the twenty-first century

and, how we got here, I am still bewildered.