Checkpoint lines
were longer with even
less people.
He was supposed to come
earlier after
three weeks of waits.

He was responsible
for timing.

They process you anyway,
but your brand has been
sitting out.
This whole lukewarm time.
Going sour.

He anticipates the
dose of memories.
Solidifying the weeks,
the months, the years before.
And wonders if they
will be laced with poison.

© SF Jones, 2014

Dystopia is a poetic worldbuilding project. Each day for the next week, I will post a poem that exposes the characteristics of a fictional setting. The pieces will showcase the physical conditions and/or the emotions and interactions of the people who live there. Let your imagination run wild; I will do the same.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s