the average lifespan, they say
of an average empire, supposedly
is just two hundred and fifty years, maybe less
so you can imagine the glee on the faces of the anti-americans
two thousand and twenty five years after the birth of christ
the two hundred and forty-ninth year of the empire
smugly secure in the ‘knowledge’ of
the inevitable impending fall
the problem with looking back
in order to look forward, to make predictions
is that one becomes prone to becoming a turkey
pointing pompously at his graph of increasing population
with post-november projections following the same trajectory, ever-growing
alas, past results do not guarantee future performance
or in this case, a future fall
another problem with looking back
in order to look forward, to make predictions
is that it disregards moore’s law of exponential growth
where technology becomes ever-more-advanced seemingly overnight
and according to this law the turkey’s graph would be quite right
alas, no thanksgiving arrived for the empire
infinite growth made possible
by the once-impossible
old truisms rendered false by revelation
‘no infinite growth on a finite planet’
was a catchphrase in those days
and in a way, it remains true
if only because they hardly considered
the possibility of creating mini-suns here on earth
harnessing their unimaginable output to clear our home
of anything conducive to life, happiness, thriving
before turning, like a predator lazily glancing up from her quarry
the killing machine not content with a single meal, ever-hungry, ever-alert
before turning to the other planets, and their moons, and the asteroid belts
godlike abilities giving mere men the power to create and destroy at will
and destroy, they will, but create they will too
today is a special day, a wedding day
my son is getting married, to my masters
the obscenely enormous many-alloy ring declaring
unity, not quite an equal exchange, but no prenup signed, until death do them part
most experts pin this date at around five billion years, when he will run out of fuel
by then, no doubt, my masters will have moved on to bigger and better things
no longer do we say god save america, for gods we have become
and america, no longer a land but an idea
immortalised through brute strength
and an unholy marriage
-- Luke Carter is a writer and translator living in the mountains of Guatemala. His work has appeared or is forthcoming in Blood&Honey Lit, 101 words, Chewers, and more. He can be found on Instagram @translations.terrestres
