The Future

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I know I don’t know

The Future

But does the future know me?


Is it predicted that at 8:43 next Sunday

I will order pumpkin spice Frappuccino

Served by the niece of the ex-wife of my former best friend

A bottle-blonde bitch who hates me?


Or will I force myself to a brisk, breezy walk 

Arrive at 8:44

Tell the barista she’s insanely gorgeous and

Her aunt’s stories are lies, ridiculous lies

Then order a small vanilla Frappuccino

With no ice?


I like to think I control my fate

Yet our Great Leader tells me when we end

Promising to postpone that day for some –

When we die we can come back as robots

Lasting almost forever


Maybe then I’ll become more predictable

And never request another frappucino