We were the children of the late empire.
The hours and minutes staged their quiet coup.
We had such wealth as to outstrip desire
itself, more time than we had things to do.
We watched the loud and louche on TV screens,
doom-scrolled, slept, accumulated trash,
and delegated our thinking to machines
while other, distant cities burned to ash.
Like a mouse chattering on midnight floors,
our sense of boredom kept us wide awake.
At dark we feared that agents at our doors
might seize us in the lamplight by mistake.
Senators campaigned in their armored cars,
telling us things were better. We grew old.
We swilled our g & t’s in noisy bars.
We gossiped. We believed what we were told.