Twentieth

 

Horseless and hungry, the twentieth century automobile rolls from production line, its shining plate reads COURAGE, a kind of tiger that burns bright in the forest cities of night, Arabian gazillions in its tank. Heroic is its on-the-road journey to a future no satnav can imagine. Obsolescence enflames its fearful symmetry, a trust in rust its makers do not declare. Sunrisen and sunset, the twentieth century empires fight back, that all-red self-destructed; change their names, that burnished their crowns. Empires umpire treaties they live to regret, sell up nations they once boasted with titles and boulevards, devise management strategies from new formed departments of ANGER, their futures sunroasted, sunbesetted. Pineapple-shirted and tropical blue, the twentieth century tourist travels with a mental AVERSION list, paying for the sights and leaving a deposit, a holy smoke destination where yesterday’s pollution can take care of itself. Physical and chemical, the twentieth century proof of energy plays with fire, children with a Little Boy toy they throw in the ring. This is the ring and this is the split, this is the drop and this is the fire, they cannot resist. It comes in a black box, a game box labelled FEAR, a throw of the dice and atoms divide, the only rule: mutually assured destruction. Plummeted and pulleying, the twentieth century elevator is going up, avoiding unnecessary steps, pushing the right buttons, fun at so many levels. Where might it end if not on the whitest of moons, taking childish steps across a sea of tranquillity, collecting lunacies to store in good ship MIRTH, watching earthrise again, a unique opportunity. Motioning and pictured, the twentieth century arcade makes the case for AMAZEMENT in corridors of showcases. Feathered archdukes motion flickeringly into the oblivion of trenches. Flying Scotsmen break land speed records in brief seconds of film. Crystal clear Fabs and Top Ten girls shimmer golden up the scale, singing their youngest words to digitised eternity. Machine-driven and revolving, the twentieth century turntable says over and over again Nobody Told Me, needling listeners with forgotten truths and unfamiliar longings green from long ago. The box-set LOVE warbles birdlike through rooms, whispers pillow-talk over rooftops the central message of postcard and pulpit, now this very minute. Heating and powering, the twentieth century fossils breathe smokestack lightning, beating blue sky thinking to airy nothing, a greyer shade of pale. Gaze turns to glaze upon that which seems normal, personal satisfactions consuming product at all-time highs go gangbusters all four quarters. Vapour trails read SORROW, what’s done cannot be undone.