Prelude to the Afternoon of a Faun in a Gasmask
My friend. Come outdoors with me. Don’t be afraid of the cancers and viruses. I have a nearly full bottle of hand sanitizer and want to share. We can walk down by the water with our thick-soled shoes so needles and other medical waste doesn’t poke into our feet. My lovely, do not be afraid.
The beautiful smog-bow is glowing red and purple and I thought we could take silly pictures, like we used to when we could still get Polaroid film. We can pretend like we’re explorers and unearth some strange fossils and photograph our excited and curious reactions. ‘An ancient water vessel! Fascinating!’ ‘Giant fish with male and female genitalia from excess estrogen in the water! Frightening!’
If the sun pokes through the radiation clouds, we can lie on the grass and sleep, shoulders touching, taking in the warmth. We can dream of those days when we swam naked in the waters and ate tomatoes off the vine. And played Marco Polo and you cheated by throwing your voice. I always knew you were cheating, but didn’t care. I was just happy you wanted to play with me.
Please come with me, now. The wild boars have been slaughtered and pose no threat in our area. The acid rains have drifted southward to Mexico. The future isn’t what it used to be. But the past will always be the same. In the past, I loved you and my love has a thousand year half-life. Perfect for saving on your flash drive or in your brain cells as they regenerate for a limited number of years to come.