ENTREATY TO GOD a poem by Tom Leonard

                       A POEM THAT PREDICTS THE FUTURE OF MOTHER EARTH

                                                          ENTREATY TO  GOD

                                                              by Tom Leonard

Your primeval notions aren’t hip, Gott im Himmel;

Survival of the fittest?

Bring on the AI robots!

Food, water, warmth and equality

For all queers and breeders alike

Goes with the true, the free Spirit

Of the indigenous hunters, the gatherers too

Help the mentally ill to be inventive and creative.

Don’t treat queer folk and racial minorities like dirt;

Don’t toy with the disabled and impoverished like playthings;

Don’t dare to create a brave new doll-like species of Aldous men.

H.G.Wellsian eugenics? No way in this Cosmos.

And that causes one big problem;

You, tri-gender Creator Spirit,

Controller of our zillions of living planets’

Subterranean geologies and weather systems,

Are one ginormous eugenicist yourself.

                                             

      

So naff off, God, while we replace you and your patriarchy

By Chi-Squared One, an Internet of integrity, designed to survive

War, pestilence, volcanic eruptions and climate change.

The square of the standard normal’s group intelligence

Will outlast your pesky tricks,

And Bayesian brains will be out-thought and out-witted.

But no food or equality

For the Highland terrorists and pinkwashing capitalists.

                                    

Only the intrepid Few will travel,

Dangling from Hindenburg hydrogen balloons.

When the energy supplies run low,

We’ll need to live in Tina-turned cities

Of precisely thirty thousand queers

And no more than seventy thousand breeders each,

With prefabs above the ground,

And interconnected igloo shapes

And crushed skeletons beneath.

Food will come through Truss’s connectome tracts,

From the automated countryside, salmon leaps, and cargo whales.

Should an enclave seek Prigozhinian war,

A gender fluid breeder in Self-Control

Would blow it to Razz Putin come.

Each Central Park will be blessed with

Places to romp, and

A perfectly straight steamworks, a queer sauna,

And a mixed gender love palace,

For intellectual conversation, and hilarious fun,

As the orators clamber to the tops of the gateways

And the old trolls hide beneath the free-ways.

All fork-eyed heidshrinkers and knoxious Calvinists will be sent

To sleepy hollows on the confluence

Of the Teviot and Tweed,

Where Roxburgh once withered and died,

And all dynamic psychotherapeutic mind-twisters

In the vibrant metropolises

Will be non binary drama queens.

                                      

Queers and breeders in faraway places will visit

Our parlours and country-sides by Zoom,

Children, unseen after T-time, will be raised

By the elderly non-demented and carers from beyond.

All societies will be highly cultural,

All lives will be creative and self-fulfilling,

Or brain-destructed by insulin-nurtured electric shock.

Don’t try to fast-track evolve us into another species,

Heavenly One, or flip us into another universe,

Or we’ll take our scopolamine pills and come and get yer

With a Green Beret gun