Alice
You
are a radical poet in love with a
transgender
rap star who speaks Russian and
sings
patriotic songs about Putin's good
looks--decompensating
like silt sliding down
McKinley
or bones decaying in the Sahel.
If
you don't do something now you'll never
be
the same again unless your pets run away
or
Paul Beatty wins another prize though you
ate
lobster on the beach where your cousin
brought
a kilo that she shared with Richard's
wife
whose puppy ran in Lagrangian move-
ments
around the fire. You're as troubled as my
nephew
Alice whose husband studied ants in
Sudan
before the revolution changed every-
thing,
and his thesis was a referendum on
animal
rights when another case of hack-
ing
proved his theory about the American way.
