A new poem on the 'tyrannical perfection' of modern life
Brian Bilston , the "unofficial poet laureate of twitter" is writing a series of poems on the theme of The Fourth Industrial Revolution . This is the third poem.
They will be wondering - by now - where I am. It’s not like me to be home so late on a Wednesday,
particularly one in September. This will not be forgotten in a hurry. I can sense their censure, even from here;
hear the hiss of the vegetables as they soften under the refrigerator’s cool stare
and the dark scowl of the coffee machine. I should have called, not just left them to their own devices.
But perhaps they already know that I am in crisis, observed tiny shifts in my behavior of which even I was unaware; the depth of my tread upon the carpet, or the slouching in my chair from which I shall not leap up to rescue a forgotten cake or slowly hoist myself to trudge to the corner shop. Its milk cartons must serve another. And no more shall my day start with a blast of cold to snatch my breath as the shower wakes for morning or a desperate stretch for a toilet roll that is not there. For everything is just so , optimized into tyrannical perfection, a thousand decisions and revisions, all the humdrumness of life outsourced to things far smarter than I. And, in its place, an absence and this stretching of the hours.
Have you read? The Alan Turing Prize for Poetry A venn diagram poem on the future of work
SOURCE: World Economic Forum