H.G. Wells foresaw the bomb.
Never prouder was a mom.
Sci-fi gets it so rarely right,
says I, sans boots that take to flight.
Year 2001 saw no HAL,
just Tamagotchis to be your pal.
Yes, computers at chess could win,
but they couldn’t kill unless plugged in.
On victory humans have a lock
because we can pick up a heavy rock.
There reigns no army of machines
except the ones that carpet clean
You can always tell robot from man
by the part they install on your minivan.
No green chicks did Spirit find.
No helmet yet can read one’s mind.
No five-course meals in capsule form.
No planet-devouring super storms.
I’ve never known a car to hover.
I’ve never taken an alien lover.
(Aliens really come a billion light-years
to probe bums and stick bugs in ears?)
I’ve never worn clothes of foil,
or used a ray-gun to make pasta boil.
Not all errors favor high technology.
Sometimes they overplay anthropology.
Isaac Asimov had his male lead
using a typewriter at warp speed.
Is it too much for a guy to ask
for our society to stick to task,
and give us a freakin’ car that flies
so I can drive the friendly skies.