Out Front of the Situation Room.

by C. S. Kraszewski.


Was it 4.54 billion
Or only five thousand, seven hundred seventy five years ago
This world was created
In trumpet-peals of light?
Let’s assume the earlier date.
It puts that scratch on your new car
In better perspective.

Still hungry for news?
When I return home to her after my morning run
The mastiff spins around wildly
On her own axis,
Disappearing in a tawny blur
Of pure happiness
Powerful enough
To knock out the power grid.

As the lights flicker and die
The irrelevant, stiff-coiffed talking heads
In their svelte Ermengildo Zegna suits
And discreetly scented Kate Spade sleeveless
Flounce fit-and-flares
Stumble out front of the situation room
Helpless and shivering
Beneath the ancient light
Of the distant stars.



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