Conjured images abound.
Paying a false homage,
Touch the forelock,
Never catching those eyes.
Fear smelling like rotting meat.
Worker’s having whispered conversations,
And happy children dancing and skipping,
As the workhouse door opens invitingly.
Abject morality, from the Victorian age.
Sunshine filling my space
My happiness mixed with relief
As it was only a dream.
Onto the Subway
Air conditioning broken again.
Does anyone read?
Fingers gliding across keys,
A steady stream of messages,
Sending and receiving
Who invented this language?
The pack exits and shuffles towards
Another day in paradise.
Distant recollections and feint emergences of era’s gone before.
Excited synapses surge
Towards meaningful memories.
Dusting off thoughts and arguments
That once flowed
Like a meandering river through
Visits to aunts and uncles,
But now suddenly thwarted.
A smiling Smart-Phone regains control.
All is right with this World.
If only we could remember the Victorian age.