in the world—where now we might
push a few buttons and
is someone's tormented graveyard.
When you laugh
at the size of the soft pretzel vendor's
sidewalk umbrella, you do it
a little uneasily;
I am having a hard time
ordering bubble tea
because I'm unsure of where I'll
recycle the container. It's nice
but a lot of hard work
not to realize
that all around us, these
of architectural genius
contain many locked doors that
need special keys—
over and over again, we have to
if we wish to remain
contestants in a flimsy game show.
Things are like this now, we say
to each other.
The world isn't fair, we acknowledge.
But walking southwest as
the sun sets spectacularly
on all these svelte
monuments to the gracious dead,
you and I can't help
feeling a little exhilarated—and perfectly free
to imagine that it used to be.