poem
Volume 35, Number 4

Eternal Optimist

We’re going south,
or so they say.

Temperatures rising,
hurricanes brewing
on the left, end of
democracy on the right.

On the bright side,
the heat wave should
be over by winter.

Oh look, the forecast
is calling for nothing
but sunny days with a
chance of blood, frogs,
lice, flies, mad cow, boils,
hail, locusts, darkness and
a spike in infant mortality.

Even more reason
to vote in November.


—Todd Matson