Originally published in Non-Binary Review #16, where it was paired with Chapter 12 of The Little Prince.
These times remind you of the little white dusty things in life,
the sinus infection after a night of homeopathic disappointment,
how easy it is to compromise and find common ground if you care
for the pie in front of you instead of celestial salad.
The cat wonders why you aren’t cuddling with her;
she hasn’t figured out that you stay up late every Friday.
She’s never seen you lick bags you found in the trash
in the bathrooms of gay bars, so forgive her naivety.
People reach out, say you’ve beaten this before, you can do it again.
What’s the point? you ask. You know the point. You know this isn’t helping.
You know it’s hard to save the world with an unquenched longing,
irrelevant once it’s quenched because the guy you just met is too interesting.
Curse the demons Trump is personally sending up your nose.
It’s too hard, you say, and you can’t even quit doing this shit
for more than two years, so you’re hardly the one to do it.
Union thugs offer help from the dimension beyond, but the cat is sleeping.