Humdrum

The neighbor’s kid shows me

a stained feather from the alley

as if it’s stained glass

or fletching from an arrow

that ends a mythic despot’s rule.

I pretend at wonder with him, quietly

perturbed how practical

my magic has become. Consider how

in Canada, a crew of postal clerks

syphoned helium from a zeppelin

to a greenhouse & flew

the whole glass cavern like a cloud.

Dormant seeds bloomed

into novel native flora,

an ethereal museum

over their little alpine town.

I mean to say how useless it is

I can sit & make that up

then tell a kid I love

put that down.