Alec Solomita’s fiction has appeared in the Southwest Review, The Mississippi Review, Southword Journal, and The Drum (audio), among other publications. He was shortlisted by the Bridport Prize and Southword Journal. His poetry has appeared in The Ekphrastic Review, Gnashing Teeth Publishing, The Galway Review, Bold + Italic, Litbreak, Subterranean Blue Poetry, The Blue Nib, Red Dirt Forum, and elsewhere.  His chapbook, “Do Not Forsake Me,” was published in 2017 and is still available at Finishing Line Press. Kelsay Press published his first full-length book of poetry, “Hard To Be a Hero,” in 2021. Both can be found on Amazon. He’s working on another. He lives in Massachusetts.

Wind Chill

The place overflows with
escapees from surging April winds.
“Feels like 25°” say all the phones
in all the pockets or on
the blond tabletops crowded
with laptops and bent heads
working or pretending to.
No longer ducking the April
blasts, these heads are bent
to more easily enter
the world all kids live in
now. Virtually.
Studying or gaming or
writing papers with
artificial intelligence.

Before there was AI, there
were, as I recall,
people who seemed
somehow like they
were artificially intelligent,
and they may have been.
Just as there were
people on the street
conversing aloud
to themselves,
while now there are all
the bud-ears street-chatting
with friends and cousins.

But some things never change.
Even way back, when there were
only weathermen to tell us,
they would faithfully report
on some April days that
it was 35 degrees but felt like 25.