Majority Rule

In the twilight of my life, I dreamed of a twinkling pixie

that purged the world of puerile words and wanton deeds.

At first, there weren’t symptoms, things seemingly intact.

And then the world stopped turning, and I stepped off of it.

I went on pretending I was some figure from memory’s raft

of deception. I reached out to touch the little children as they

screeched gleefully on swings at the neighborhood park.

I drove by the graveyard with headstones dating to pioneer

times. Out of the cradle with rocks in my head, I consulted

the remaining populace, and they voted to forge on. I was

a Spartacus collecting my horde of followers. We resolved

to push back, take on the kleptocracy, deploy everything

stored in our rhetorical arsenal, make use of what firepower

necessary in order to annihilate death and restore heaven.

Thomas Piekarski is a former editor of the California State Poetry Quarterly and Pushcart Prize nominee. His poetry and interviews have appeared in literary journals internationally.