Salvador Dali is Forever

by Howie Good

 

We’re trained for Armageddon. We’re trained for the worst. And yet I can barely make it day to day. I visit places to ask for help. The conversation doesn’t go any further because nearly everyone is out in the sunshine watching the birds die off. I didn’t expect this at all. I don’t even know what it means. The walls are covered with pictures of Jesus. That’s actually not such a nice way to grow up.

*

I can’t explain what’s going on. This whole place used to be green with a lot of pasture. We know we will have to move. It’s heartbreaking. But we have no option. Will we live nearby or be scattered? Will we even be allowed on the lakes if it’s all lined with offices? We have nothing to do but survive. We’re not meteorologists or God.

*

Is there violence here? Is there murder? I used to see seagulls everywhere. Today there are none. I’m not really into cosmic things, but it’s like you don’t have a choice. I want to know what actually happened. The next 48 hours are going to be crucial. Maybe if you and I can stand very, very still, bits of daylight will reappear, bright stupid confetti.

 

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