POETRY // Accepting the Disaster

by Joshua Mehigan

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EXCERPT //

Crowds moved. The cities sang with grievances.

Squabbles occurred, and inconveniences,

and, before long, seditious skirmishes 

rattled the squares and markets. Wantages

and strife spread inland. Some of the unrest

was calmed with salaried sports and danishes,

some with the help of a few quietuses.

And some was not calmed.

The rich, intrigued, watched from their terraces. 

No one could reach the federal offices. 

Old enemies reaffirmed old purposes

and hatched mad plots to milk our weaknesses.

Dry bones and ghosts dwelt in our allies’ palaces.

We saw on the lamp posts the blurred visages

of late and later disappearances

smiling from homemade flyers, and other posters

on post office walls of shadowy grimaces,

and, at the curbside, bright encumbrances

of roses, lilies, tulips, irises.

So we tossed back our daily dosages

of purine alkaloid, faced our sadnesses,

and, every morning, shelved our essences

to join in battle with our mortgages

and the platinum plans of former Christmases;

then, past-due buggies to past-due cottages,

which held our sitting-apparatuses,

and white bread for baloney sandwiches,

and access to ten million circuses;

and, on our day off, stronger substances, 

laughter and tears; then, premium mattresses

and capsule nothingness. But none of it

did anything to lessen the disaster.

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