2050 Poem by William Jackson

The world, a steel cage, complete with plastic grass,
whose round windowless walls allow no escape,
is lovelier than ever, so I am told, and there are
no environmental damages.

Even if there were, the children of 2050 would not know it.
They have never seen trees or a field of purple Verbenas.
They have never seen a solitary bee gathering pollen,
but only scores of bees swarming fifty gallon barrels of trash.

This is not the same as it was when I was a boy.
Then I used to watch the bees wriggle into the Morning Glories.
We had trees back then, and yards, and flowers too.
Still, I’m told I complain too much.

Besides, the children all have cell phones,
and not one of them has any need or time for play.
So many already have children of their own.
And with all the streaming video available,
what is play?

Did I tell you I moved to Los Angeles?
At first I almost died from sameness!
(My psychiatrist tells me I complain too much.)
He says it's just a matter of finding the right dosage.
I've started taking 125 mg of Zoloft. No blues now!

Did I tell you? I no longer worry about my weight.
I cherish one size fits all clothing, and I truly savor
Sonic’s fried macaroni & cheese bites.
Besides, everyone who is anyone takes Lipitor.

At least I don’t have Alzheimer’s disease, and
unlike most people, I remember real orange juice.
I used to buy it before all the citrus trees died.
And although the butterfly garden remains barren,
save for the plastic butterflies, (I tie them to the silk plants.) ,
I remain content with Tang.

The threat of terrorism from external enemies has virtually vanished
with the advent of multicultural education provided worldwide.
With our fully open borders and new found open mindedness,
all is well.

I think it helps too now that 84 percent of the public has converted.
Islam really is the religion of peace. Radicals are a rare thing.
Now only the occasionally nail bomb kills or maims anyone,
and the damage is limited to the inside of the Mosques.

I’m told life is safer now than it was in 2010.
Still, I probably complain too much.
Oh well, it does not really matter.
Whenever I am overdue, someone comes by.
He makes sure I attend the two hour session
at the reeducation center.
It's free, and does not cost anything
other than tax dollars.