Damon & Kate Moore Photo Archive
The joy of being lost and forgotten is poetry.
The sex, suspect gifts,
highlights and head turnings,
the big order at the bakery.
We like turning them into poetry.
Constantly we manage the thought
can I keep this?
Constantly poetry reminds us, can we?
Poetry makes expansive the harm,
the happiness but the joy
of being lost and forgotten is what it’s best at.
Everyone wants to know
a little about the apocalypse
when politicians
have run out of excuses,
Greta Thunberg having become first
minister of Sweden
and even she couldn’t persuade people.
With copyrights, patents
all lifted, AI given
one last opportunity,
any person separated was permitted
to search for any other.
No-one could bear to wait
to find out
so events accelerated
with streets swelling abnormally
and everyone out on foot
because no-one drove EV’s anymore.
AI needed all the electricity.
Then I spotted
tracking through the crowds
wearing a wide brimmed hat,
green rucksack
a figure I knew could only be you.
Poems about how
humanity will end are unlikely
to feature much love poetry.
But now I see how they can.