Scoundrel Time

Next Election

Maybe inject chlorophyll beneath skin to grow own food as we go.

Maybe clutch in each palm handfuls of fat as hedge against vanishing animals.

Maybe class up cursing with smattering of Latin.

Maybe drive to supermarket stunned by afternoon sun faint like photocopy of photocopy of photocopy of smudge against sky window-cleaner blue.

Maybe tell nice officer who asks we’re operating under influence of symbolic aura, pale and vivid colors, and dot-to-dot constellations we daylight take on faith.

Maybe hope at last our suffering possesses the symmetry of Dante.

Maybe lie on courthouse sidewalk reciting petition drafted first by inscribing in bar top whiskey puddle repeatedly the symbol for infinity.

Maybe recall crows wheeling in sunset over dollar store.

Maybe move lips while reading novel whose plot points magic and spells resolve.

Maybe remember Melville wrote Moby-Dick in western Massachusetts near whale-shaped hill.

Maybe imagine mansplaining the ways of God to man.

Maybe compose libretto for opera buffo celebrating domestic life, La Dolce Rigmarole.

Maybe make claims drastic and hyperbolic: Neutrinos inoculate flesh against spontaneous combustion, one example, and each instance comes at us at the same velocity: suddenly.