In Our World,

In our world,
If we were to dive into this hallway
I swear it'd spread open, this
bright moon with a hole in it.

How intimate the bolts and beams,
the duct work and firewall.
How freeing the construction
hungry for us.

In our world, we'd dangle our feet over electrical wires
as if looking at cityscape: its bright shadows and alluring rains,
the pavement below so black snake oil hungry.

In our world, our young went camping.
And like young do, pet bears.

In our world, cherries fall from the sky,
hunger is optional, diabetes is the name for hockey,
All the shit and piss and sickness and fathers dying of cancer
is a season two, episode three synopsis for our favorite T.V.  show.
Our dogs get run over and reinflate back to life.

The world, I learned is a small globe
with raised relief and molded plastic base.
It's filled with space hard to touch.
I smashed it on the floor once, just to see.
I was disappointed. The air was gone, the globe
in fifths, a discarded egg shell.

We used to have teachers, someone to blame and follow.
Then we grew up. I miss those.