May 23, 2023

there are plenty of clementines left

There’s a list going of the world’s perishables. Someone is measuring the latest blips 
on a seismograph in California. Little League games are flooded with referees 
glancing at their stopwatches. The great maw of the ocean yawns threateningly at Miami,
and the body wrestles with a ticker tape of diminishing returns. No wonder it feels as if
scarcity has become another organizing principle, our lives moving at a too-sharp clip 
to stay in the game. How can we not fight against the encroachments, the leaching of hope,
the drafty window of time? It is hard enough keeping the driveway cleared of weeds, 
rotating the tires, staying awake to the veering turns of everything we can’t predict. 
But against all odds, there’s a surplus in the produce aisle, a bin of netted bags cascading
like some happy volcano. How long will they take to rot? My arms widen, and I reach in.