The year is Twenty Thirty One
a new decade has just begun
and if time-travel is your bag
you’ll join me here without a snag
but what a shock, what a surprise,
you hardly will believe your eyes:
the Guernsey of Twenty Nineteen
has vanished like it’s never been.
No more mind-numbing traffic jams,
aggro, hostility or scams,
or undisguised abuse of power,
with prices rising hour by hour.
The modern Sarnia has changed
though sometimes it just seems deranged.
We all live indoors nowadays.
Outside, pollution like a haze
hangs over our poor Bailiwick:
if you go out you come back sick.
Life’s safer now with VRC
(that’s virtual reality),
much better than real life by far.
We live like beetles in a jar
for our protection, say the States
(yes, we still have those reprobates).
Nobody works, it’s too much fuss.
Now robots do the jobs for us.
St Peter Port is just glass towers
bedecked with artificial flowers,
there’s no marinas, not one boat,
all’s tarmac now nothing’s afloat.
The highlight of our little lives
is once a year we and our wives
are taken on a trip to see
something miraculous for free
Today we’re off to see real grass,
extremely rare, kept under glass.
It used to flourish all about
but blade by blade we stamped it out.
Oscar Milde
