Monday, March 16, 2020

Strangely Fitting Poem for Today

This piece of mine is in McQueen's Quinterly oday. Strangely fitting for these corona virus times, when we are told to "shelter in place" here in the San Francisco Bay Area. Hope everyone is staying well out there.


Y2K: A Memory

 
So it’s the millennium (or not depending on how you count your years) and I’m in the Post Office waiting to get shot or at least held hostage by some raving maniac with Y2K wired in his brain, compelling him to—just do it!—and my packages are all over two pounds so I hafta go up to the window and there’s that crazy red light 2000-countdown thing with only hours to go, the seconds flying by like dying brain cells, reminding me and everybody else just how old we really are, and not getting a second younger. Then, I realize everyone in the place has that edgy kinda look, like they’re all wondering how they ended up in the Post Office on New Year’s Eve with forgotten Christmas gifts tucked under their arms or catalog packages to be returned, and if ever there was a possibility something really bad would happen, this is the time, this is the place.

It’s in-out, don’t look back. The guy in the Santa hat is grabbing his change like there’s no tomorrow, just grateful to slide out the door with his life. Moms and kids too, how can you bring kids to the end of the world? Clerks all talking at warp speed, let’s get this place cleared before the crazies show up. Everyone’s focused on the millennium clock, just beating out the last hours to the tune of their own hearts. No I don’t want insurance, no it’s not a bomb, no I haven’t taken anything from strangers. No candy, no drugs, no nothin’. Just returning some stuff to the catalog store like everyone else. Just trying to get out with my mind intact. One more day, one more millennium.

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