When new technologies emerge
And a new generation is on the verge
Of becoming ascendant, the old one
Remembers the airplane, the ship, the sun.
The old infrastructure provides
Robert Frost with the new. Big Tech rides
Into its new being, a product
Of itself. We neither guess nor predict. We are.
The sun loses out to a distant, communicating star.
The ship still brings things here,
But there’s a different wavelength to the beer.
The poet and the professor now work for IT.
I don’t know them. And they don’t know me.