The fish survive all that radiation, whatever is a go-pass beyond poison.
Snow falling off at a slant from the scientific station
ice adaptations that lead to the new normal.
An owner’s manual under a concrete donut,
in its hole someone has planted a baby cactus.
He had given the tour so many times
He had given the tour so many many times
He had given that fifth grade assembly so many times
a pulsar emitting a death ray
A small pitcher to catch tears laid out on black velvet.
You wear this on your lapel after your planet dies.
You wait until the caught tears have evaporated.
Each exhibit came with an interpretive sign.
I could read them from ten feet but no more and trailed off.
The baboons so aggressive towards each other until the bacterial infections
caused their hands to rot and they crawled on their elbows.
They couldn’t take it anymore so they started grooming each other.
He had given the tour and wanted something beyond interpretation.
What would it mean to imagine just the grass,
the mountains, and the scrolling jellyfish?
O my hatred of the organized.
© Cynthia Arrieu-King