I, Nostra O’Damus, in the year of perfect vision,
offer these bold and most abstract predictions,
of course I had these dreams many years hence,
but after watching the six one, they finally make sense.
Sickness will have its passport well-stamped,
flying around where metal birds land,
and with it’s cryptic change of value ID,
it might just set the east and west free.
Alone at home many attend meetings,
outside people kick each other in greeting.
An English circus serves bread in gold cups,
while Tokyo tells runners to put their feet up.
Tons of pasta are bought to avoid the Italians,
turf wars are waged over bog roll rations,
but the peace is kept by masked men, reverential,
a complete lack of skills deemed to be essential.
Distance will no longer separate hearts,
would-be lovers grow closer 2 metres apart,
and after this Phileas Fogg-y flu lifts,
I confidently predict that they’ll all get the shift.
Stephen is a radiographer in University Hospital Galway. An attendee of the Over The Edge poetry workshop, his poems have appeared in Boyne Berries, ROPES and Vox Galvia.