What Could Possibly Go Wrong
A deep sea diver jounces through Atlanta’s sunken streets,
Their diving boots as heavy as regret.
A hedgerow grows up through a scree of hedgies’ bones,
Piled, smashed, a full five fathoms’ worth of air
Below a previous window.
It has long since crashed,
Just like the system,
Into ruins.
A fawn tip-toes on its tony hooves
Through leaf litters of derivatives.
Bats roost in a useless legislative chamber’s
Few remaining rafters.
Orca sing near Moorgate.
But the tiny glimpses of a billion futures,
Fragile as flecks of fishfood floating in a tank of hungry tench
Are gone as soon as you awake,
Dog-tired,
To face another dreadful day
Farming triffids for their oil.