The Interim (or a short course in aibohphobia)
Silently we sit together as mankind turns inward
to conquer a space once too small to be seen.
Everyday scientists cleave our palindromic prokaryotic DNA
exactly.
We view the next generation with the same
Algorithm that selects the ripest tomato.
“Do you think she had a little work done before conception?”
I wait for my native primordial mess to solve a quandary,
when a simple gene edit would solve everything:
eat healthier chicken,
cover my skin,
speak more clearly,
think more clearly,
take action,
kiss my wife.
Yet, words that end as unceremoniously as they begin haunt me:
Racecar, Eve…Deified