Embarrassed Power
Dreams and begs the blankets for rockets, bananas, and the wind to
stop.
He wandered into a night where the grass was trampled and the dung
weighted the air like an overpopulated trapeze.
He felt there could not be 2 more unlike things than language
in easy rhythms and tires. He decided to survey the year,
double the order of fruit and space exploration.
Now in his sleep he appears like the original, but still desires
bananas. He fears a software shutdown on the tropical plains.
No more plantains for the flesh eaten monkeys.
27,000 counted just in July.
This style of creation, deliberation, and travel is
benchmarked by the Yahoo think tank. No results, no moratorium.
His manager probably killed the project, the fruit of his long nights.
Like Hemingway, he rambled through the town looking for her.
Schools, hotels are all in a national
banana crisis, but he couldn't pull them out. He couldn't be a savior.
Even the satellite picture wouldn't tell, handing over its life instead.
Hospital safe. Hold on. Medicaid paid partly for the
backdrop inside; labor sweating, screaming, expelling the fruit of her
womb.
Together they wanted to make a new thing.
It's time.
by Elana Jane Abernathy