So, I took her for a drink at Tier 19,
A retro bar whose name makes me smile
Now we live wrapped in plastic with snorkels for all.
The robot bartender nodded and was polite,
He’s programmed that way, of course,
But I appreciated the ‘effort’.
She had the pea-based meatballs
Because of course in Tier 35,
Meat is, as Morrissey said, murder.
I hoped my dealer might get me a chicken later
As I chewed upon some crunchy faux-carrot sticks,
The real things ran out 21 months ago
And now it is all make your own or go without.
I clicked the button on the side of my head
And it made the jukebox light up with God Only Knows.
I ripped off our snorkels and kissed her beautiful face,
Everything illuminated.


Three weeks later,
I’m still in a cell.
I regret nothing,
As the clock strikes thirteen.