The Fountain Of Rust

Boys…

In another life on March 7th they're calling for rain all day.

It's a mudroom that needs tidying and dogs that still need walked.

Would you just put your boots on the mud tray for once?

In another life, March 7th's toast burning and a smoke alarm screaming turns into jokes about Army coffee and flying a desk.

In another life, March 7th isn't the end of the world.

“What’s wrong now?”

“He smells…”

“Oh… my god.”

“Like a stale cigarette marinated in aftershave.”

“So nice to see you haven’t lost your wit.”

“No, just millions of dollars and my dignity. Meanwhile, my sister is dead and I am forced to negotiate with a Xerox copy of myself.”

“That’s the part that bothers you? Not the part where you were trying to annihilate everyone and took what should have been your final bath?”

“Mmm. Jill, I have yet to be proven wrong. I joined one of those think-tanks on Facebook earlier today. Compelling stuff. Did you know the earth is flat? Incredible. I had no idea.”

“Stop it.”

“One gentleman offered to boost my immune system and supercharge my libido for a comical sum with what I assume is Sildenafil being sold without a prescription.”

“Is there a point to this?”

“You were so desperate to save your herd all those years ago. Saved them all just to watch them light each other on fire. I should jump on the pseudoscientific bandwagon and sell sawdust pills that align chakras.”

“…Does he ever shut up?”

“No.”

“Maybe I can start a podcast.“

Maintenance debt.

Ecological collapse.

Monoculture.

Albert, you knew all of this already.

It’s why you destroyed the bees, isn’t it?

You want my source for all of this?

For cascade that would have followed?

My source is you. You wrote it.

You knew it.