Futureproof

Here. Take it. It is all you have to go on.
I do not remember if this is the first or last.

The air is thick enough to walk on.
From here I can see what’s coming.

I could make you happy, cover your eyes
with tiny hands that smell of candy floss

—but what good would that do?
I have premonitions too high-pitched for you to hear.

I stand over your city with my head
that is too big even for my head.

I oscillate in the heat haze
over fading power stations.

I come and go, my Doppler selves,
in the guise of ambulances, fire engines, fighter jets.

I am as colourless as what must happen.
I am not the messenger. I do not flinch.

I do not always knock twice.
Everything is not rosy.