Image: Jeeni Criscenzo
By Jeeni Criscenzo
Fault Line Park
Sitting here talking philosophically,
about the fin of humanity,
in the throes of a heat wave,
shaded by the towers of Fault Line Park.
One has to ask,
does the name they gave this place,
lurking like something about to go terribly awry,
more so than the “Out of Order” sign
permanently etched on the restroom door,
serve as a preemptive warning
that everything can change,
catastrophically,
in an instant?
When we feel that fault line quiver,
how will we know for certain
it isn’t just vertigo in our own collective minds?
that what’s coming can’t be stopped,
or even mitigated,
no matter who we voted for,
or even if we didn’t.
It could make a person religious,
or just fatalistic,
and maybe that’s just the way of it,
when we’re all facing impending doom,
And if we knew for certain
there won’t be a price to pay,
would we even give a shit?
Knowing that at any moment,
the end could hit,
and nothing you cared about
just a moment before,
will matter one bit,
anymore…
Well yes,
like you said,
there are things we cannot change.
But if I can’t tell the difference,
who’s gonna grant me the serenity to accept it,
if I don’t believe in god?
And I wonder,
when the shit hits the fan.
will I go down shouting, “Jesus!”
or “God Damnit!”
or “Fuck!”?
Once we come to terms with
the effort being so not worth it,
we could all just seize the day,
and laugh the end away.
Bobby McFerrin sang it a capella:
“Don’t worry, be happy!”
and the Rubaiyat got it right:
“Eat, drink and be merry!”
because no matter what you weigh
we’ll all be dead soon anyway.
So take off your shoes,
breathe and pause, long enough
to feel the green grass grow between your toes,
because it turns out that failure is an option, after all,
and that long anticipated awards ceremony
could be slated for cancellation.
But it would be reassuring,
if maybe we could just get a day’s prior notice,
a sort of “pink slip” from the planet,
that would give us enough time to go to confession,
just in case we got it wrong.
Then we’d have our bases covered,
when we hear that final rumble,
and the Pinnacle starts to crumble,
we’ll just laugh at the irony,
sitting here talking philosophically,
about the fin of humanity,
here in a heat wave in Fault Line Park.
Latest posts by Jeeni Criscenzo (see all)
- Isn’t It Good, Norwegian Wood? - December 6, 2018
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- Fault Line Park | National Poetry Month - April 18, 2018
