POETRY // Accepting the Disaster
by Joshua Mehigan
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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