clementine.
Someday, not far from today there will be no one to turn
the library lights on. No one to unlock the doors in the morning.
no face to say good morning to or option to ignore
watching instead the feet, victims of April’s showers.
The very showers thought not to exist. Yes, one day
none of this will occur as the automatic timer register one more
second. The second that happens to be programmed
for the lights to go on. All without the flick of switches
making the pleasing sound they so predictably do.
The sound that seems to echo through the silence,
announcing the wave of electrons through miles of wire.
Now it’s just one more passing second. A second
with no key turning. Just a lock being triggered to receed.
Almost instantly it’s over. And though it’s tempting to mourn
over the future lack of human intervention, the thought would be inaccurate.
As disconnected and maybe even unpoetic as it seems, we created the timers.
The exact second they react is our choice.
