Future Poem

Future Poem
By
T. I. Fraser

Good evening, folks.
Sad news tonight.
Respected television journalist Dan Rather died peacefully last
night.
The one hundred and forty-two year-old host of Dateline was shot and
killed in his sleep.
Government officials have called it sad, natural, and necessary.
Fires continued to rage in Belfast from the off-course nuclear missile
of April 8.
The IRA has yet to claim responsibility.
Things are beginning to grow again in the Middle East.
Scientists have found mutated cactuses that eat religious fanatics in
the wastelands of Old Tel-Aviv.
Fourteen more Americans died tragically today trying to jump the gap
between the rich and the poor.
The people of Brooklyn have been found.
Tourists discovered them in an Amazonian rainforest in Brazil.
The native New Yorkers say that they are well, and, after some initial
disorientation, have gotten used to what they call their new
home.
Music continues to get better than it has been in decades as more and
more people find the blues.
The second coming of religious icon Howard Hughes has been foretold by
a talking dog.
The dog's owner says he is not to be trusted.
A riot broke out at last night's football match between Florida and
Denmark.
Apparently, the refs had problems determining who had the ball,
causing a sudden and massive lack of national identity.
And finally, the space shuttle Atlantis is scheduled to come down
today.
NASA officials predict that it will crash into the White House, but
say that it's okay because the crew is four months dead.
This is someone coming to you from inside a box in the alley.
Good night,
And may the Spruce Goose comfort you.