April 24, 2009 § 4 Comments
In Futureworld, I won’t need to
take a single step; I’ll squeeze my eyes,
and then (perhaps not gingham-dressed,
but flighty just the same), I’ll land with
gentle bump upon your meadow.
You’ll wonder who I am, this tiny
braided thing – feet first, nose high –
and if the light is right, you’ll won’t
sweep at me or snarl.
In Futureworld, you won’t need to
read my mind, for we will be
connected: silver nets that stretch elastic,
visible to all.
Writer’s Digest prompt (travel) April 24, 2009