It could be a face from a distant year N
Thousand: some scathing Schwarzenegger clone,
A super-cool, super-steel android hulk with a yen
For plastic violence. OK, say this is erron-
eous: perhaps some abstract construct — planes
Of anger scything hurled volumes. In any
Case, it is faux Fascist, colonising domains
Stamped ‘Force’, ‘Tomorrow’, ‘World’ and two-a-penny
Slogans of that ilk. But it’s a toy out of gear,
The lines limp, the colours dull-drab hues
Of blue-black and mud-red on a ground
Of soiled yellow. The failure is in the year:
1958. It’s old news,
Hankering after a Futurism never very profound.
Thousand: some scathing Schwarzenegger clone,
A super-cool, super-steel android hulk with a yen
For plastic violence. OK, say this is erron-
eous: perhaps some abstract construct — planes
Of anger scything hurled volumes. In any
Case, it is faux Fascist, colonising domains
Stamped ‘Force’, ‘Tomorrow’, ‘World’ and two-a-penny
Slogans of that ilk. But it’s a toy out of gear,
The lines limp, the colours dull-drab hues
Of blue-black and mud-red on a ground
Of soiled yellow. The failure is in the year:
1958. It’s old news,
Hankering after a Futurism never very profound.
(3.4.1997)
