On the cusp of scared

because cigars and large foreheads

beckon ancient ones;

our habitat is in jeopardy

because of comfort.

I can’t even force a sneer anymore.

Small talismans piled up

along arms and in ears and around necks,

we count as we walk,

wondering when the Big Boot will come

and squash us into the ground.

.

Between reveries and hunger

is where we keep defeat at bay,

our bangles jangling a joyful noise.