Arachne’s Daughter

One morning
Walking into my backyard,
A thin strand of spider silk tangles my legs
With a quiet snap,

Its frustrated author glares
From a high corner nearby.

Shall I pity her folly or praise her ambition?

I return inside to my cup of coffee
And an unfinished love poem not worth mention.


The New Humenu, 2112

For long pork, until recently,
Our majority tasted like bland chicken,
Closer to an old American fast-food chain
Than something Southeast Asian free-range.

Things stayed tough even after the Great Drought
And the Emptied Ocean, despite our best advances.
Reflavored sewage solids and discount roachwurst
Barely satisfied the Survivors, let alone the Thrivers.

Thanks to a modest proposal,
Dr. Morrow’s radical gene therapy
Sparked a new eatconomy.

With the mostly-consent of the desperate indifferent
We incentivized 99% humans, Homo Edibilis,
Injected with archived DNA from antique biobanks.

Who needed to get to Alpha Centauri, anyway?

Our new buffets feature a sumptuous repast:
Menison, Mangus Beef, Tuna Mish, even exotic Miraffe.
Eat heartily.

Next year, they promise novel advances like Melephangaroo!
Alas, fitting wines like a Humerlot remain in short supply.

————

Bryan Thao Worra is a mammal. Usually. His ink sticks to the paper consistently. You can visit him at: http://thaoworra.blogspot.com.