The times of when we queued are dead & gone.
To wait for bus or tube which never came,
Or pile up at the bar in pre-App days,
Was bliss, indeed! And such a crying shame
It is, this here-& -now that thinks & says
Sweet Progress, how I worship thee alone!'
But, what else can we do? Shall we sit still
And perish here, because we have no wings
To fly? For centuries, nothing happened. Things
Created lived, endured, then died, did not
Evolve, just queued up for extinction! The lot
Of man was fixed for random good or ill.
Now, all is instant, done before conceived;
Perception's queues pass largely unperceived..
L. A. Barron
[13/6/19]
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