Day 7

BRENDAN MCLEOD

 

        I’ve got this thing a lot of white people have called
being a real idiot sometimes. Imagine, just yesterday, begging police
to sweep the city. As if that could go any other way than how it’s always gone.
Already, they’ve ordered men back to camps in BC to keep the oil flowing,
the senators who jumped ship on their stocks before anyone else could know. Imagine. They could have warned you about your grandparents dying,
instead they started printing money off
the circumstances surrounding their corpses.
 
       I really hope they have to worry,
even for just a day or two – which is years and years now, time’s different,
everyone says, information waterfalls over us, we live the eyes of hurricanes
from our rooms, a minute’s an hour, a day’s a year – plenty of time
for them to have to contemplate the sewers, to peek down back alleys
on their golden hour walks and oh so gently have nibble
at the fulcrum of their consciousnesses, maybe I’ll end up here.
To have to stare down their long, manicured lawns and momentarily
glimpse pitchforks. They won’t quite believe it, no one can believe it, I don’t
believe it –
 
       but would you believe
they closed the borders and bars and restaurants and stores
and asked us into our homes and mostly we went
and walked around our rooms and waited?
I have to tell you:
 
       it happened. It really happened.
Maybe it’s not a pipe dream. Maybe we’ll even get their money.
Maybe the market will eat so much shit money won’t even exist.
Which is ridiculous, I don’t want that, I own stocks,
I’m a fair-weathered revolutionary – the point is the world
is more radical than we pretend. Never mind tsunamis. Look at a picture
of an anteater. Imagine agreeing you share a planet with that, then claiming
it’s democratic socialism that’s impossible.
 
       At some point today I’ll go for a jog.
Watch the aching sky, trees bowing to the wind, and take a picture
with my eyes so as to hold it in mind later and shake from the gratitude.
Something I should have been doing all along, by the way, future human
of Klarksburg or Centenary or Nilnionda – whatever place you happen to inhabit
on a map not red-checkered with disease – please believe
what your mind holds like water:
 
       it’s a miracle. It’s always been a miracle. We can just never notice.
Now that you know,
 
       you get to decide what to do.



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