Wednesday, December 14, 2016

Those Two

You know those two – that wispy duo
of whom we will sometimes catch a fleeting
view, floating through, looking back as if
they hadn’t caused what they are looking
back at. They make their unseen minions
pour great bowls of vitriol into the batter
of the many-layered cake they daily bake

striated with the everyday catastrophes we
snack on. Soon gain is loss, abundance drains
to lack. They joke and drop our smart-phones,
keys and wallets with a plop into those vortices
that lead into the wormhole to the only galaxy
where smart-phones, keys and wallets
aren’t welcome. They are the bell rung

at the funerals of suicides, the three alarms
that blare out from the firehouse too late
to get the hoses to the fire, the siren
in the ambulance rampaging to the wrong
address, the cruel and stupid fury of a biased
jury at the trial whose detestable denial breeds
a verdict no half-sentient being doesn’t hate.

They fund a major portion of our fate. They waft
and flutter: butter vapid folderol upon the biscuit
of a breeze, flirty rapid little tease, disingenuously
promising to please: looking for more spines
to bend and lives to end and minds to numb
and knees to seize and hearts and hips
to break. Kicker is, we like that cake.


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