On the first day of the new century, I wrote my first News Poem sitting at my kitchen table.
I slept until noon.
I talked to my neighbor about having a communal garden in my
back yard.
I noticed that the barn at 203 E. Oregon was missing its locks. I
opened the door and explored the inside for the first time. As I
explored the upstairs, I could hear Wednesday meowing at me from
downstairs, asking just how I had gotten up there, trying to figure
out for herself.
I had coffee with friends I didn't expect to see.
On the first day of the new century, it was warm and sunny until
mid-afternoon. There was a nice breeze blowing for most of the day.
People recovered from hangovers, and the very structure of matter
remained the same. Solids did not become liquids, liquids didn't
become gases. That whole overblown "computer bug" thing never
happened, and we were reminded yet again that we don't always
understand the technology we create. Your software will always have
quirks and your car will make inexplicable noises. We will never be
able to predict the flight path of a "smart bomb," which will be ok if
we just stop using the damn things.
