Nowadays, it has become a commonplace
To say the evening lies anaesthetised,
And awaits only the surgeon’s knife
To kill it off;
Or that the sky is a television screen,
Tuned into a dead channel.

These days, there is nothing in the least surprising
About the chance encounter,
The umbrella, the sewing machine,
And it has even become a commonplace
A standard of postmodern wit
To say that everything changes,
Except for the avant-garde.

Nowadays, what would be truly surprising
Would be to stumble upon a rose
Neither synthetic nor genetically enhanced,
A real-life rose, just coming into bud,
That was as seductive, pert and perfectly formed
As that pubescent-girl-in-the-poster’s
Provocative little pout.