Living in the Future
I live six hours in the future,
Relative to family and other loved ones.
I wake each morning to news of the world
As the Atlantic Ocean shields them
From dreadful awareness a bit longer.
I know the missiles are airborne,
The tsunami approaches,
The revolution has kicked off,
Or just that the avocado yield was low.
I’m fighting the urge to scream,
To call, to text, to message.
Anxiety crushes my chest,
My head exploding from pressure.
This could be it, the end,
And you don’t know,
And you cannot be in my arms.
Should I reach out through
Electronic tentacles and
Disturb your last moments?
(Selfishly, I want to hear
Your voice one last time!)
Or must I let you sleep
Peacefully into your annihilation,
Contented in your ignorance, as I forgo
One last goodbye?