Dystopia (With Thanks to Wallace Stevens) – A Poem


The house is quiet and the world is calm
But it only seems that way
My dystopia is real

I step over bodies on the way to work
Idle at the red lights out of respect
Sit side by side with unblinking corpses
Listen to a voice recorded long ago

At lunch, I eat food from a half stocked vending machine
The front swings ajar and adrift
There isn’t much left to choose from and I think of complaining
But the vending machine man is resting eternally
And it doesn’t seem right to disturb him

The last person left on earth
I’m not sure what I did to earn the position
I debate it: privilege or punishment?
Either way, I’m making pointless history
There will be no-one to learn from it after I’ve gone

I think of the last man on earth
And the things I said I’d never do with him
And realise that I lied


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