after Carol Clark

drawing by Peter Newell from Through the Looking Glass

Should my nightmare be cut out?

From the high school cafeteria I chase young Anthony down the rocky slope into the bushes while he holds a vaping pen filled with stuff he cooked up in some Ukrainian drug deal.

 

That dream was my manufacture.

 

Should I snack at midnight?

Do I dare to eat a peach? It’s convenient to have food at hand when I make myself wake up to console myself for the nightmare.

That wake-up was my manufacture.

 

Should I put away the male gaze?

My birding companion who saw the jubjub bird told me he prefers warmer weather when the jogging girls have less clothing on.

That lust was my manufacture.

 

Should I entertain my desire to grind someone’s face into his own political mud? Throw down his rogue lawyer too?
For unacknowledged rage it’s convenient to have a giant orange target.

 

That wrath was my manufacture.

 

I have found it!

Something I can chase, eat, lust after, and strike down

with my vorpal tai chi sword.

If only I can name it, I can slay what is not me.

Should I beware the bandersnatch?