Prairie Fire - - KIM GOLDBERG -

The ocean broke

We called a re­pair­man

The sea stars shot hoops amid the anemones

We retweeted head­lines of plan­e­tary col­lapse

The crows van­ished among oily bar­na­cles on the beach

We joined #TeamFol­lowBack

We waited for mir­a­cles

The nudi­branches armed them­selves to pro­tect their spots

(The oc­topi were al­ready well armed)

We grew bored

A re­lief team ar­rived to re­lieve our bore­dom

We were still bored

We won­dered where that blasted re­pair­man was

We called his of­fice

A dis­em­bod­ied voice told us he was al­ready on site

We asked if we could pay him in sand dol­lars

That will cost us an ex­tra fifty push-ups, the voice said

We got the gum­boot chi­tons to do our push-ups for us

(They didn’t have as far to push)

The floun­der floun­dered

The sole departed

The tuna tuned up their ukuleles and be­gan to play

The ukuleles had minds of their own—and gen­i­talia

Things were get­ting out of hand

We still couldn’t find the re­pair­man

The ocean was clearly still bro­ken

We asked for a re­fund

We were told our 30-day guar­an­tee had ex­pired

We launched a Kick­starter cam­paign to hire a new re­pair­man

We of­fered moon jel­lies as perks

We ex­ceeded our stretch goal

Then the first re­pair­man showed up in a bi­tu­men rain­coat

He had been work­ing be­neath the ocean the whole time

He told us we need a new ocean

Or we could con­vert to desert with a gov­ern­ment re­bate.

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