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#1



Pick only one, said the Twitter poll:
true love; a hundred million dollars; a time machine.
Isn't it sad, I commented, to become so old
as to understand that only #2 exists?
Not so, a woman posted back,
I've enjoyed #1 for thirty-five years now,
with no sign of abating.

I should acknowledge her great fortune.
I should congratulate her.
I should rejoice at the news
and rejigger my model of the world.
Why, then, do I want to crumple up her brightness
like a ball of dry paper and throw it
into the obliterating brightness of the sun?

All poems are written and copyrighted by Michael C. Rush.
None may be republished or repurposed without permission.