1 poem
by Ellen Welcker
Ellen Welcker is the author of Ram Hands (Scablands Books, 2016), The Botanical Garden (Astrophil Press, 2010), and four chapbooks, including The Pink Tablet (Fact-Simile Editions, 2018). She lives in the Midwest.
Anarchic Arachnid
The puzzle asks the puzzler
to achieve. Well, I am here
to stay bewildered. Am I here
to stay, asks everyone
of themselves. J/K.
Of other invasive species,
this we do ask, as well
as those at risk of non-
existence. Me? No.
When sharks flourish
we are happy ‘til they swim
where we like to swim.
And sharks do draw the eye.
But on behalf of ticks
I am offended. Apex predator
to apex predator, I must
move to include the little dicks—
at least, give them some respect.
They, like me, move into imbalance
and right that shit by making it
wrong. The unnamed exist
yet I insist on calling them “like”
something to google.
Disapproval means nothing
to ticks, and me—we’re hovering
J/K—we’re not on anyone’s
ballot. Everyone knows
you go to hell to clarify things.
Inhale mindfully: you’ll know
something, I’m told. Clouds
are mountains of sky, for instance.
Inside each cumulo a billion
possibilities; in each possibility
a million more. Solve for X.
X levels down, find 2
to the nth power. It’s a real
pyramid scheme. Near the bottom
you’ll find the five species
of ticks. Like me, newcomers.
Like me, unsolvable.
The climate increasingly
perfect for us.
One problem is solved
by keeping the most of us
alive. But who is us
and who in charge
can get behind ‘no one.’