Ivory
"You killed me," the bull said, fractured,
his voice a bass bleating.
"I don't even have ivory yet. Or memory
to carry down the years."
"You're not even real," I said, shouldering my gun.
"If it makes you feel better," the elephant said,
blood fountaining from its corpse.
I pulled down a menu and turned it into a fountain,
with water and coloured like ivory, pixels
glistening in the sun like fish scales.
"Used to be," the fountain said morosely,
"Used to be it was just my leg turned into
a freakin' wastebasket." I disconnected from the program,
deciding to return the Brave New World simulacrum
back to the dealer in the morning.
I dug out the package from a wastepaper basket
that I never knew I had.
Everywhere, cameras are watching us
It's the way of the future.
The haunting cry of the whale
meets the lone hooting of the owl.
Static fades to white noise. Silence.
The air is full of panting.
Cybersex. In real time.
Huddled in change rooms, we bare
ourselves to cameras, knowing
how many gyrations mean we get
the underwear for free.
Beware! Beware! The horndogs
are watching you! Their twitching
hands, pathetic eyes glistening
as they replay your life muted
in slow motion, added a soundtrack
of grunts and groans.
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