The Switch

by Terence Winch

The sky was gray muck today
as the planes took off for the south.
The west is flooded. Elsewhere, the lakes
are drying up. We are eating bacon and egg
sandwiches, drinking coffee, our backs
aching, our knees torn up and twisted.

In the giant memory we keep entering
then exiting from, love is declared, waltzing
takes place, the music just goes on and on
till the early morning. The fiddle player leaves
with someone else’s fiddle. The box player
leaves, his instrument stuffed into
someone else’s accordion case.

The old lovers dance and joke in the hallway.
We shall eat squirrels and rub marijuana cream
on our sore bodies! In the background, a slide
show plays continuously. There we see our
past as a t.v. commercial, everyone smiling,
teeth sparkling, sorrow nowhere to be seen.