New stage

The first time I won the revolution, they didn’t tell me for 20 years.
By that time I had moved on.
I brushed it aside when they said
      my parents had mapped paths straight through the ethos
      the ones they urged on the military-industrial complex.
But I inherited their walking sticks.
      Sometimes I pass conveys on my way.

Before we even knew that revolution was over,
      we were defining a new stage.
We counted it a success because so many people showed up
      although our tallies were probably off because we lost track of where they left with our props.
The floodlights were on all the time.
      We were high on the platforms.
      Our vapers turned into monuments.

Everything was speeding up.
      We didn’t have catalytic converters, so we gunned it.
      No memory of more than thirty years was worth anything.
Chess games were lost by running out of time.
      We changed the names of the pieces, and all the squares too.
      The path to victory wasn’t so straight anymore.

When we emerged from the end of the embankment,
We encountered a new people incapable of evil.
      They throng the marketplaces as truckloads of panaceas are unloaded.
      With a swipe you can sign up for lobotomy on demand.
      You don’t even need single-factor authentication to order dopamine.

The chess pieces now are scattered through the mud.
      I’m trying to pass the bikechain back over my rear wheel.
When I rejoin the revolution, I’m seeking a new stage without guillotines.

Instead, there will be a ticket at the door for every applicant
      and a fantastic door prize for all.
Everyone will know who they are for the first time.

Andy Oram
May 13, 2018

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