Polar Bears

Dan Boucher

meanwhile, white televisioneers
are finally admitting
we might be doomed but they’re
all data, no solutions, par for the...
well, you know.

just like you know they
will never help, never shout
“Get off your ass and do something;
call your governor,
call your comrades,
call a general strike,

call four-one-one (is that still a thing?
someone should look into that)
and tell them
‘People are dying in an empty lot
full of weeds
behind the sugar shack
next to the big maple
along a cracked corridor of asphalt
with a chain-link fence
bordering a blank acre,
a sea of blight, a
tick farm,
scratchy, dry, and bleeding
to death.

well, maybe not here, operator,
but certainly somewhere.’

Shake strangers by the shoulders,
Tell them, ‘we're drowning.’
Pantomime ‘drowning’
when they pretend to not understand.
Bulge your eyes and cheeks,
flap your arms,
stage-drop onto the sidewalk,
flail like a dying fish
trapped on a salt-crusted
ship’s deck.

Then lie still and let your dry tongue
fall out of your mouth like a cheap cartoon.
Lock eyes with them and say,
‘Don't fuck with me about polar bears,
I'll fuck you up.’”