WEAPONS OF THE FUTURE

Minerva, Ovid called you

“goddess of a thousand works”.

Medicine, arts, handicraft and poetry.

But, I ask, is Metis, your strange

weaponising mother still around?

Something tells she might be.

Did she have a hand in forging

a vibroblade, a new weapon

that I, in this poem, choose

to put in your hands? Not that

I want to set you to old wars,

or new ladies. Let us be done

with that and with wisdom,

better things to do. I beg of

you a great deed. Wave that

vibroblade as sisters in arms

to the new pestilence. In the

service of medicine for all-kind.

We would welcome it as yet

your greatest battle.

But rather, keep you both

a steady hand as vaccinations

go on. This is our future

and beyond.