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Poem Awaiting the Future to Title
by R.G. Evans
I’ve put things in the ground
for future archaeologists to find.
Mother. Father. First wife. Youth.
Knowledge is the tool we use to say
I’m better than you. There’s a tool
inside too late that locks a lot of doors.
Historians will write some things
we will never know. This is called
dying, what made the Dark Ages dark.
When they worship or exorcise us,
they will get it all wrong.
Just like we did.
Hallelujah.
I’ve arranged the bones
into an SOS.
I’m playing the long game. You’ll see.