Dystopia, after The Hundred-years Party

went for a walk
in planet surface dust
rubber faux-leather boot pants
jacket hood mouth covered
Seuss-ian trees gnarled root tendrils
silhouette against burning sky

i alone dressed for space weather fear
the other alien hominids
slathered in lotion rubbed noses
blistering heat cooled
hiding in lawn sprinkler fantasy
radiation washed faces

made my way down millennial ant hill
to the shadow side valley and
night lit yellow lantern box houses
searching for a milk vendor
ulcer cure, or opiate apothecary among
the stunted raisin-head martian people

dreadfully slow this moving in armour
while the shrivelled ones flit about
and stare with their eyes
“isn’t it hot today? and, oh the humidity!”
one said as though commenting on my
overdressed style

“milk please”
i returned from deep beneath muffler
ignoring its attempt to talk about weather
with purchase in plastic bag hand, i slogged
uphill to dome-icile complex
and fly-faced smoker’s cough neighbours

to my own little
mouse ball hamster wheel apartment
undressed into cold shower bath
How terrible, i thought, such unprepared
madness. gasoline, N2O-t.v, booze-music radio,
community is dead, and ignorance is bliss

© Emerys Watchel, 2016 All rights reserved.

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