Twenty-first century ciphers,
lashed to a mast
as the sirens sing,
and the wax is melting
in the growing heat.
Assembly-line productions
that are numb to all seductions,
let androids man the oars,
while we give Polly a cracker,
drink the Colorado dry,
and yearn for Denver's
bright Calypso.
And how did one small step
traipse into microplastics
in breast-milk?
Armed with GPS,
we wander like Odysseus,
wondering how long
Penelope can hold on.
John Walter Taylor
© All rights reserved
30 August 2026
