The History of Science

Nicholas Fedorovich Fedorov believed in science,

That you could die and let out a thirsty yawn

In your grave. The duty of science

Was to revive you decades later,

You the refreshed man in need of a shave

And new set of continental clothes.

He dreamed such thoughts in 1859,

A Russian winter with black birds

Eating black ice. If you stepped off the curb,

A ragman's cart could crush your foot.

The foot could become infected,

Grow large as a bass. This occurred

To Mr. Fedorov, I read,

And he smoked his puny cigarettes

And sipped brandy, not in the least scared.

Science would bring him back

If he died with one foot larger than the other.

He would lie in his grave,

Thumbs touching and his watch stopped at 12:34.

Decades would pass, and birds, too.

By then, by the time science bubbled over test tubes

And the like, by the time Jesus was revived,

More scared the second time around,

Mr. Fedorov would lift himself from his casket,

Eyes blinded by this thing, that wonder,

Our luminescence of question marks . . . the light bulb.

Mr. Fedorov, Russian dreamer with ice on your beard,

You have not seen the emergency room in Oakland.

They are calling #14.

My own ticket is #56. I stepped on a tack,

And my foot may grow stinky as a trout.

They call #15, a boy with a bandage over one eye.

They call #16 and #17, twins with bad colds.

They call #18, but he can't get up, old man spider.

They skip him and shout for #19,

Immigrant mother with babies in her arms

And another in her belly. All I need

Is an injection, some prayers.

I read greasy magazines

And wait thinking of you, Mr. Fedorov,

Still yawning in your grave,

Blind to the invention of lightbulbs

And the new disease that crawls up your arms.

You have not seen Oakland at night,

The screams and coughing and palpitating hearts.

You're in your grave, thin as twigs,

And you missed some of the best wars

And the best stories of war. Famines blew

Like sand in Africa and Jews stood on rattling trains.

In Chile, the president sneezed

And the whole country waved a Kleenex for the man.

Comrade Fedorov, your watch stopped at 12:34,

Not a minute too soon.