I recently had this one published in the newly reactivated Riggwelter many thanks to the incomparable Jon Kinsman.
Your life need not make sense
Origin story
We are foam on the surface
of the boil of evolution, and you are fitted,
crudely, in a survival-of-the-fittest-shaped hole
and although so many armchair Fascists suggest
this means your only valid role
is to beat, subdue and rape
this is not the case.
You need not be the wolf
(who are not like that anyway.)
Fittest never meant most buff
or supreme conqueror,
Darwin and consequent theorists
have always meant most suited to the day
and when the afternoon is spent
building box forts for grandchildren, then...
why Grandma, what strong genes you have...
Making a life
So you build a society
upon the froth and initially all you want
is edible roots and grains enough
for through the winter's bleak
but in a society people speak
or snub one another
and people start to own things
inherit
acquire that younger lover
on the side
and people hide
or worse take pride
in their tiny peccadillos
and before long
the heap is sorted
every person in their place
every foot
firmly in the face
of someone underneath
and you smile and say you are happy
with the boots
all pressing down.
Making a buck
I will trade these beaver pelts
for a new iPhone, I have I think
a ton of them
encrypted
with a blockchain and stored
in an envelope which I keep
beneath the mattress
and I earn them, of course,
on the gig economy
where nothing is forever
or even for the day
and why would you want a pension plan
why would you believe that you
or your nation
would ever last that long?
Coherence is not required
...as we stroll along the shore
salt sea-spray in our hair
and the five star hotel is still burning
over there
the currency we bought when we arrived
might now get us shot on sight
and who knows whether the street kitchen
we used for food tonight
will still exist tomorrow
or take my walking boots in payment
but this is a great holiday
axiom zero still holds:
we exist
and what more do you want?
