Twenty Forty Three

In thirty years from now
When we look back 
on the thirty years gone
It'll be twenty forty three.

And what do you suppose we'll think
As we look back?

Will we care about
Will and Kate
Or the breasts 
of Billy Ray's spawn?

Maybe bright spangly body bags
uploaded to Facebook
When the wake began
Will finally overwhelm our thoughts.

When we look back in thirty years
We'll pore over the litter of our lives
And consider what we disregarded
Listening to long-dead creative types 
And be black-screen martyrs of spite.