A Faint Prayer

Dear powers that be:
do this thing, while there’s time
before the ethnicities race towards extinction
and the trade wars destroy all currency
and antifa starts thrashing every nouveau nazi within an inch of their virginal life.

While the water levels are low
and potable water is high
and trademarked materials are still controlled
by the occasional individual
and taping rapine and pillage are not the laws of the land.

While hope still holds
a feather or two
to call its own
and you lords of order maintain
a scruple or two
that separates you
from the the last page of Animal Farm.

at a point when there’s still time
and a chance
and the possibility it could still do some good,
is it possible, maybe,
that you could name Sixth and A
as the corner where AntiFolk once lived?
Place a placard
or signpost
or an eternal flame
or something there
so that the future
– whatever’s left of it –
will know that something of note
happened here
before everything went tumbling down?

While there’s a moment,
you feckless powers that be,
can you do this thing for me?

About Jonathan Berger

I used to write quite a bit more.
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