Not Springing Forward In Barcelona
In a time-zone all our own,
we were a bubble of the past,
a cleanser upon the last sentence of history.
Lazing through tangled medieval lanes
we offered everyone a do-over, a mulligan,
and as time flowed backwards to greet us
we imagined the world transformed—
gashes were healed by knives,
seatbelts were remembered,
nets of salmon effervesced the ocean,
bombs rebuilt cities, swallowed firestorms.
M16s sucked bullets from the resurrected,
disease brought health, everyone got younger,
showers lifted poison from innocent lungs,