"Dear Greenland, We're Sorry" and Another Poem by John Gallaher
"The king might die. / The horse might die. I might die. Whatever."
Dear Greenland, We’re Sorry
Life originated on the wheel of a Chevy Nova. 1961. But we didn’t call it that yet. Like this bad relationship I had once that I kept saying maybe I can wait it out. The king might die. The horse might die. I might die. Whatever. Maybe throwing some golden apples in front of the racers will do it. In the end, waiting it out was a terrible idea, but that’s not always the case. Welcome to late capital, where we’ve eaten up all the grass in the front yard, and filled the back with Geiger counters and suddenly we notice this field next door that unfortunately has a house on it but we’ve gotten around that one before. Let’s reaffirm our commitment * to the idea of Wild Bill Cody, and a face like a map with a mountain in the middle, a rift valley, and lush forests. The stage production must be repeatable, as Genghis Khan said to the Y chromosome. When we say “value” we mean it in a very specific way, as a wholly-owned subsidiary is a company that is completely owned by another company, called “Mommy.” Called “Penis.” Called “Westward Ho,” but to the east, unless you’re taking the scenic route, and nothing says “scenic route” like America. In Greenlandic, the polar bear is called “Nanoq.” Let’s keep our focus on what’s really important. How was your relationship with your father? What of your past, and your journey through music?
I’m Thinking of Reconsidering My Former Position
You have to brace yourself for the really red apples. You don’t want to go off willy nilly. Maybe there’s an evil queen around. Maybe a painter. Does hunger mean something else now? Like that relationship in college. I’m sorry. You’re too beautiful. I keep forgetting to breathe. And then wanting to be back, or to have things back. I keep forgetting that you’re talking. Did you say something? All I saw was your chin becoming your neck and then going all the way down to your toes. It fills my brain the way a boat is thrown through a house in a hurricane. It’s like having two emergencies at once. Which code do we use? Which protocol? I’m sick with two things. I didn’t think that was allowed. I’d like to speak with the manager. * If I were a dolphin, I’d hate people, but dolphins are saints, apparently, which I also disagree with, on principle. And they let us pet them, after all we’ve put them through. I’m sorry, dolphins. I didn’t mean to bring you into this. I was just looking at this apple and had this debate called “Real or Plastic?” That’s part of getting the tenses mixed up, especially in French, which I only speak as a pretend accent. “Ello, bay-beee.” That kind of thing. Some things you get to have, and some you just pose with. There’s always another level of superstructure. It speeds up and trips on something in the dark, when all I meant was I’m hungry or wowie-kazowie, or, “Oh, look at the time,” coming at you like it might be best to be somewhere else.
