I woke up this morning with a statue
lying on my chest.
Maybe it was one of the Roosevelts,
or just a president, someone like that,
he had a mask on
and also it just wasn’t the best angle,
plus I’d gone to sleep thinking
the earth would stay where I left it.
And I’m not saying
we all need to be cement,
I’m not some secret pigeon apologist,
really I just need some room.
I mean tell me
when they pull you from the rubble
there won’t be some hair in your fist.
I don’t know if you’re aware of the problems
they’re having with AI.
They won Jeopardy and Go
but they still can’t find the right Nazis
on social media. I think it’s because
computers don’t breathe.
It’s like that statue said to me,
I must still be standing
because I never moved.
Donald Zirilli (he/him) was a James Tate Prize finalist and a nominee for Best of the Net and the Forward Prize. He edited Now Culture and The Rutherford Red Wheelbarrow and judged poetry for the NJ Teen Arts Festival. His poetry was published in The 2River View, Anti- poetry magazine, ART TIMES, Nerve Lantern, Posit, River Styx, and other periodicals and anthologies. He and his wife live in an idyllic corner of New Jersey with two dogs and a cat. His chapbook, Heaven’s Not For You, was published in 2018 by Kelsay Books. zirealism.com
I really love this poem!
I love this!