…still it soothes us, the clanking and humming
in the half-dark, the giant sooty bellows of the
coke ovens, the sky sucking on smokestacks
in a new-wave science fiction sort of cpr.
and the drones aren’t predators, not yet,
so far they’re friendly as the family dog.
super-heated mineral wealth, dark riddles
hidden in actuarial tables, interest rate cuts,
the heat radiating off the giant silos at the
canola oil planet, the ladder snaking around
the tanks of liquid air under the skyway.
cobblers’ grandsons coding scripts for
financial derivatives algorithms, lego
figurines under glass, mementos of the
future’s remorseless colonization. the
mayor lied, promised me he’d stand up
to the billionaires but i’m not bitter,
ever since the maternity ward i’ve
been expecting too much, fighting
the tides, the times, the second hand’s
psychotically-cruel one-way trip. hard
to practice resurrection in the shadow
of such insect-like efficiency. learn
to pray, to plant a flower, and wait.
Darrell Epp is the author of 3 poetry collections: Imaginary Maps, After Hours, and Sinners Dance. His next book, Mechanical Monkeys, will be published by Mosaic Press in 2020. He lives in Hamilton, Ontario.