by Philip Booth
from his collection entitled Lifelines Three zeros coming up, as the odometer turns toward its new thousand. Old movies, cars, pushing 2002, the number maybe we'll get to, maybe we'll not. As if numbers were our destination, as if we weren't close to lost. As if it didn't matter how we've already poisoned the planet, invaded lovers, born generations of micro- chips, wired our lives to suicide bombs, and still told ourselves, year after penultimate year, that there will be survivors, that we'll be the heroes who'll last.