The Future

a poem I had originally written for the 21 Days of Poetry but decided not to go with.

In the future sex is different
You’re required to use a flancloneter
We’re really not sure what it does
But it saves the man from having to eat her
Children come in little tubes
You can choose
With or without boobs
Computers aren’t fun anymore
They talk back
And call you a whore
You can’t drive
The cars drive you
And the lights change colors
From purple to pink to blue
All in all,
Its really a drag
Every good looking woman
Was really once a man
The future isn’t all its cracked up to be
But the worst part is
Underarm deodorant is now potpourri

Elizabeth S. Tyree