Where in the world is The Future
headed, we awake and ask ourselves
after what has happened.
When the quake of the news is over,
at the end of the presidential parade,
where does she go from here?
Every street is a lewd stranger.
How will Next Week know to tell her
which way is safe?
Next Month, Next Year are not
even places on her latest map
of the known universe.
And about all those waiting Tomorrows—
will they teach her to be a leader
or leave her lost as a ladylike follower?
by Anne McCrady
Audio Link (hear Anne read the poem): SoundCloud