The Future Is

The future is
sky blue and burnt sienna crayola
jagged and wild
on a piece of yellow construction paper,
a jetpack hero
strafing x’s into the eyes
of the past.

The future is
checking its watch again,
waiting on a lover
to come back home,
flipping the channels
on a thousand early morning dramas
as she sniffs the flowers
on the nightstand.

The future is
the next ragged breath
and the whispered prayer,
the next holy sound
on the hospital monitor
as he holds her hand
through the night
and waits for a smile.

--

That's what they gave me: "The Future Is". Carte blanche except for the title. This was another of our poems from the Red Chair Affair, and possibly one of the more interesting ones. We worked our booth at the pre-show mingle in the lobby, and looking back I wish we'd had more time. I think people were just getting drunk enough to approach us by the time they were calling them in to the theatre, so about a third of our poems were rushed out in the last 20 minutes. Ah well. I just want everybody to know that the downer atmosphere surrounding this poem can be attributed to the fact that I was missing a performance by the Blue Man Group in order to get it done. Could hear them from out in the lobby and everything.