1am Things

by Katie Kemple

These days, nothing is certain anymore
a President incites an insurrection,
to stop Congress from certifying his loss,

my daughter becomes my son, changing
she to he, declaring their birth name
dead, another rising up from the flames,

and I wake at 1am to watch blinking
lights from devices suck dinosaur
corpses from their electric arteries.

Are we paying our financial advisor
too high a percentage? Will we
be working up to our deaths?

Cancer could be carving our bodies
up already, tyrannosaurus steaks,
we are impossible burgers, raw.

This screen burns my eyes. Nothing
is impossible now. I will wake up
tomorrow with nothing. I will wake

up tomorrow, a billionaire. I will
wake up tomorrow, put on socks
and make coffee. I will wake up

tomorrow, and buy my son the long
skirts he has requested. I will wake
up tomorrow, and fire my financial

advisor. I will wake up tomorrow
and wonder if the new President
can hold us all together. How long?

In my last will and testament, I am
cremated. Nothing is together, it’s
not impossible, our ashes will fly.