18 Jars of Pig Fat
Nov 21 2022
When the hard drive froze
my data were corrupted
the internet broke,
I thought about the sum
of all of human knowledge
embedded in code;
how easily
it might be lost.
They say that somewhere
there is hardware
behind the ineffable cloud,
so nothing to worry about
— fibre optic lines
power stations
server farms,
as well as corporate custodians
watching over it all —
but I've seen none of these
with my own eyes,
can only rely
on what I’ve been told.
How odd, then
when they found the clay tablets
and all the data were intact.
Had lasted
for over 4000 years
buried in the desert sand
through war, pestilence, and famine,
the many dynasties
petty jealousies
and breathless intrigues
200 generations
of human frailty brings.
So much so
that old scores
if they hadn't already been settled
could still be set straight:
an ancient Sumerian ledger
in which 18 jars of pig fat
were dispensed and accounted for.
But more to the point
what is worth saving,
what do we value most?
Poetry
physics
philosophy?
Or gossip, commerce
forgotten gods?
And when civilization collapses
and all the data points
vanish into the ether
the only story will be this;
pig fat and taxes,
bad debts
etched in stone,
the random doodles
of bored scribes.
Not to mention Gilgamesh
and his quest to live forever.
Which, improbably
it seems he's attained,
at least in verse.
Cuneiform in clay.
Old reliable technology
when the world goes dark
and the last battery fails.
A poem for the Luddite in all of us.
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