A device of science fiction man covets the most
is perhaps that ‘rewind’ button for errors of his past;
for every man who’s heart may be a host
of regrets accumulated, of numbers so vast.
Perhaps to win battles lost, by unfortunate armies misled.
Or even stock-markets extrapolated; or fateful elections once run.
What is said can never be unsaid; apologies don’t resurrect the dead.
What is done cannot be undone; regret thus plagues everyone.
A ‘time machine’ is all I ask, just to fulfil a simple task.
To untravel the road I chose at that fork that day.
The future watches me from behind his mask.
And a science-fictional device is my hope’s last silver ray.