A Brand New Day

Late at night in the chemical lab. Robots
move around freely. The whir of cameras
observe everything. Silence layered over
the bubbling of tubes containing all manner
of gurgling chemicals. There is a sterility to it all,
the never ending depth of it, and nothing else,
nothing human, no hint of anything but the product.

Ah, it must be a commercial for an as yet
unnamed entity, all red, white, and turquoise.
We could call it by the chemist’s call number,
or we could call it A Brand New Day, which will
include, free, the promise to fix what ails you.
Camel’s milk for the thirsty, paint that blends
and never peels for the aesthetic painter.

Cloudlike tufts of cotton hang from strings
like dishevelled tampons. There is no problem
this can’t solve. The wish, the demand for
cleanliness screams and the tri-dimensional
shadows give the impression of rows.
If I were a tuft of cotton I would want to be
bathed by the solution inside.

Indescribably, it is very attractive. White bottles
throw light shadows disguising what the contents
might be. Red caps signal caution or the closed haughty
lips of an opening. When the camera swerves out into
the periphery, we see the robots succumb, tipping
the flasks to sip as if were oil for their mechanical joints.
They smile, make click-like noises as the night wears on.

A Brand New Day

But all will remain incomplete, unknowable until the Label embraces the plastic. What could it be? A cosmetic face lifter? Ha-ha! A health drink? A solution to clear pipe innards? Ho-ho! A cure for loneliness? A life extender? Or the solution injected into a death row prisoner. I won’t take responsibility, an underling will be given the task to say what it is for. To be sure, scientific data will back us up and we have inscrutable lawyers.