A Humid Fugue

— Shane Kowalski

A person outside is waiting for you to react to your life.
              They keep checking their wrist like a watch.
              Suddenly it’s summer. The leaves are erect. Animals crawl out of the forest to take our jobs.
              Then: push back, of course. A fervor. A national sentiment suddenly happens. Committees are made. Groups are formed. Petitions are marched about. Rallies are festooned. Legislation festers. A humid fugue falls over it all like a wool blanket.
              Abrupt attention is paid to the flag.
              Always we want the thing we never wanted when it’s finally being taken from us.
              How do we stop ourselves from stopping ourselves from being gentle?

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