Wednesday, March 18, 2009

Now for a little light prose..........

Then and Now
The atomic clock announces the start of my day in her usual neutral tone. Rolling out of bed, I curse her reliability. My touch-pad is blinking red - the ex reminding me that I have to pick up my son early, this weekend. Shower, shave, breakfast, then I rush to catch the bullet train. It takes me from Central Jersey to DC in fifteen minutes. Time enough to send three holo-mails.
The morning is filled with more of the same. Lunch is number C60 (chicken salad) from the automated food dispenser. After that, it’s Virtual-Court. Lawsuit against my client for erecting a statue of a twentieth century musician who wrote about blowing winds which could answer vexing questions on life. The statue, made of a mixture of Buckminsterfullerenes and graphite, allegedly casts an overly large shadow over the neighbor’s hydrangeas. Judge looks perplexed and asks “Who?” I shrug, equally mystified. Arguments take forever. Decision will be rendered tomorrow at 8:30. I disconnect. Time to pack up, catch the 5:30.
I make it with seconds to spare. Soon, I’ll be home eating dinner – unplugged for half an hour. Got to send a couple more holo-mails, stay on top of my case load, then program the vacuum-bot and reset my clock to wake me earlier tomorrow. I wonder what it was like in the twentieth century. Must have been tough.

Tuesday, March 17, 2009

Cancer

Rooted in nascent immaturity,
Some seeds do not grow but
Coalesce into mutant chrysalis.
Seemingly dormant for decades
An inner core, plots and drives
Marginal cells to multiply.
Their numbers increase,
Insidiously sapping nutrients from the host.
Perhaps dreaming of higher glory,
Their single-minded proliferation
Severs the symbiosis.

Outside: flesh is emptied husk
Breaths in rhythm with mechanical hiss
Her face is wrinkled, wan,
Blending with white-washed walls
Eyes sunken, sightless,
Spittle dribbling down
the corners of her mouth.
With sympathetic mask, worn thin
From overuse, the opposable fingers grasp
The switch.
Wails of grief reverberate across the room.
Then soft sobs punctuate
Details of the memorial service.