I don’t have great expectations for the distant future. My woman keeps telling me that fifty years from now there won’t be an “us.” Just the usual engineering feats of tiny underground critters. So I’m making no plans for the 2060’s. Even if they come with their own summer of love. This afternoon is a far better prospect. The day is shedding itself of any and all clouds. Sun is in the works. Even love, that strange thing that already exists, and yet we can’t help making it. Even tomorrow holds promise. I figure on seeing it. And with her by my side. Maybe we’ll perform the usual dull tasks necessary to the maintenance of a house. Or we’ll do something extraordinary. At least, by our standards. But the far off is populated by middle-aged men and women who are babies now. It’s adorned with famous people we will never get to hear about. There’ll be wars no doubt that many will perish in. So that’s a benefit. We won’t have to add them to the ones we’ve lived through. This moment is actually more than enough for me. I’m present. She’s with me. It required no great preparation on my part. And nothing can go wrong because it’s already behind me. The next moment takes its place. If time sticks to the routine, I can live like this. — ANDREJ BILOVSKY
Andrej Bilovsky (he/him) is a poet and performance artist in San Francisco. He is the former editor of Masculine-Feminine and Kapesnik. His poetry can be found at the Quiver and Down In The Dirt.