Newlogies

Well, my first try at a newlogy didn't go too well. I guess it's hard to be a pioneer in any new artistic form. Maybe Picasso's first try at cubism wasn't such a success, either. I tried to write a poem imagining something in the future with appropriate detail, but instead of its sounding optimistic and hopeful, I think it came out sounding wistful, haunted by a deep and abiding sadness. I already knew the past was haunted by a deep and abiding sadness, but now I'm afraid that the future is, too. Maybe I ended up writing a futuristic elegy. Anyway, here it is:

It Could Be

Here’s how it will happen.
I’ll meet him on the bus.
No, on a train.  More picturesque.  
But then again, I ride the bus so often,
and I hardly ever ride a train.

So: I’ll meet him on the bus.
He’ll sit next to me, even though
there are some other vacant seats,
and I’ll wonder if he just doesn’t
like to sit facing sideways.

He’ll comment on something about me.
Maybe my hat.  Would a man say “Cute hat?”
Would I like a man who said “Cute hat”?
Maybe he’ll comment on my mittens.
But no.  If I’m wearing mittens,

He won’t be able to see my bare
ring finger.  So instead he’ll say,
“I like your hat.”  That’s better than
“Cute hat.”  If he’s wearing a hat,
I can say, “I like yours, too,”

And then we’ll start talking.
And we’ll keep talking. And he’ll ask
if he can call me, and I’ll say yes.
And we’ll get married, and people
will say, “How did you two meet?”

And I’ll say: I met him on the bus.