Boiler, 2008
Words
Words I think as I walk to the pub: We probably don’t deserve the future we’ve ended up in.
My pocket emits words: “New.Message.From.Sarah” ___ Man-made saucers that circle the earth bounce the language of a friend into the shiny black pebble in my pocket. My friend is about to fly, and she will cross continents.
One slip of plastic in my pocket is a key to the city, another replaces coins, a third with an RFID could put me on a plane, the world under a wing. I just use all three to get a double Scotch in an old room near Holborn. _____ Drink.
______________ I hear that last night a man was killed in a case of mistaken identity: The killer thought the victim had insulted his wife, but that was another man. _________ We still kill over words.
© Matthew Sheret, 2008
