The noodles, steaming

There's still time

Not too late, hear me.

Take the complimentary apple,

Stow it for later.

Eat The morning noodles

While it's still hot.

Not too late,

Listen to music

As the steam rises

from the bowl.

Not too late

As the steam rises

and the machines work,

Sharpening , getting ready.

Not too late

To do something that satisfies;

The A flat sonata by big B.

The E flat trio by chubby S.

It was not too late for them

To compose music that carries you.

Not too late, I say,

Even if it means nothing

In some cosmological sense.

Even if it won't be

an equal to these giants.

The bar is pretty low anyway,

As these are the last days.

So no risk of failing.

The stakes are not high.

And it's not too late

Before the robots come,

To have or do something.

Even if the possibilities

Of age and time,

Are a closing sphincter,

Even if those red LEDs

Will one day stare.

Even if the polar bears starve

Signalling how precious

A bowl of noodles will become.

Even if the ocean's

now made of plastic.

And there are so many red buttons,

And incurables.

Not too late, still.

Not to avoid- that is too late,

But at least you took the time.

And you know that you still

have the apple for later.