In the future we all think about the past.
We shelve ourselves on the internet.
We prefer the apocalypse over birthday parties.
We prefer to reread old wars instead of having new ones.
In the future we look for that X that marks the spot.
The spot where we buried our courage,
where we buried blind ignorance,
where we buried faith.
It is one hundred and fifty seven years
from when you read this
and you feel as if you are caught in a time loop
because I keep telling you
I wrote this piece tomorrow.
In the future you have a wife
in Valparaiso, Indiana,
in Port Angeles, Washington,
In Frederick, Maryland,
but the one on Prince Edward Island
passed away and was buried at sea
with full maritime honors.
I tell you in the future there is a pill
for being stubborn,
and one that cures curiosity,
and one that causes you to remember
all of your wives birthdays.
You ask me to tell you something
you haven’t already forgotten,
so I say, “My dog ate my homework,”
immediately after I hand it to you
because two lives from now
you are my pet German Shepard.
Kenneth P. Gurney lives in Albuquerque, NM, USA with his beloved Dianne. He edits the anthology Adobe Walls which contains the poetry of New Mexico. His latest book is This is not Black & White. To learn more visit http://www.kpgurney.me/Poet/