Calvinball in the 90s (a double abecedarian)
Almost never because ‘Simon Sez’
but because of how we play—
carrying on like a hexed ibex
dancing with the weeping willow
eating dry cereal bagged at EZ-SAV,
freshness notwithstanding this milieu.
Games with no rules or time limit.
in dirty, swirling water
joyfully ignorant of the NASDAQ—
kids until the big drop.
Little boxes of DNA so
miniscule and inconsequential that we’ve won.
Ne’er-do-wells all—one collective hoodlum
oscillating as if through free will.
Plunging into the middle of the wreck
quite clueless of the sadistic Raj
raging at our collection of fungi.
Surrounded by so many hisses of shh!
Tornadoes have begun gyring
undulates of atmospheric stuff.
Vexed as a bipolar snake
we bash the self-tamped
xylophone shouting “just one sec!”
Yesterday we could easily rob
zeal—now it rules in absentia.
I’ll Take Those Odds for a Dollar
Scrooge McDuck passed last week. That top hat
will rest atop no more foreclosure papers. His pool
drained of ducats and bullion. The power plant
won’t quit shooting rainbows at migrating birds.
Rice fields are flooded not out of necessity—no
bog berry like the ball bearings Ocean Spray
peddles—farmers with pedal-pushers and parasols.
Galoshes fashion-forward in a land of waders.
I’ve set up a paper boat factory. It’s a solo op
for now, but there’s room for growth. Every
day on my morning rollerblade I christen every
bare-headed boy crabwalking the streets: Noah.
We will have a chance if their odds are turtley—
far less than one percent just to hit the surf
still flipping. And they called Fermi an optimist.
Zebulon Huset is a teacher, writer and photographer living in San Diego. His writing has recently appeared in Meridian, The Southern Review, Fence, Rosebud, Atlanta Review and Texas Review among others. He publishes a writing prompt blog Notebooking Daily and is the editor of the journal Coastal Shelf.