there are days
when humans long
to have their swim bladders back
long for prehensile tails
and pre-opposable thumbs

there are days
when humans daydream
of evolution as a lazy river
sluggish enough to let them travel
against the current

there are days
when humans hear the story
of a two year old watching
his mother being raped
for three days straight

by a man clutching
a thirteen inch butcher knife
who had been let out of jail
on a stabbing charge
just before the kidnapping

there are days when old skeletons
are dragged from the earth
scraps of skirts still clinging around the hipbones
they stare nameless out of their forensic bags
for too long

there are days
and days of swollen bellies
and empty eyes
flies in the corners of infant mouths
days when the animal spirit recoils

there are days
when it is hard to recall
why some
call humans
the peak of creation

there are days
when the creator
must long
for
a do-over

I still think Sleater-Kinney is the best rock band in America.

And the shirt I bought from Janet on the “All Hands…” tour finally fits.