Doomsday Turnstile
The turnstile cranks. With every turn, another person slides toward doomsday. A camera clicks. A picture captures the moment. The line snakes through the city. Block after block, we wait. Our heads bowed. Our hands busy swiping on new phones. We have the latest model, all the bells and whistles. The line slowly slips along. We hardly notice. A soft electric chirp dings our phone with each swing of the turnstile. The latest dancing cat video pops and the whole line laughs. We move ever forward.
I Carry a Shovel
I take a lot of shit. No, it’s true. I carry a shovel. The good kind with the extra firm handles— well worth the cost. I take the shit here and there but mostly to the desert. It can get heavy. I haul big piles around in my protective suit. Sometimes I need the large Loader or the Excavator with their big scoop shovels that I bought from an auction. Out here, away from bosses and the day's losses, I scream and scream. Who wouldn’t? I take my time. I lay the shit down. I pat it into the sandy stretch. Stars fill the sky like a bubble. Standing upwind, I admire the dark cake of earth. Shit cannot mess up this desert. I breathe in; I breathe out. I know I am not supposed to give a shit, but trust me, the desert can take a lot of shit.