29 of 30, 2016

To the Weasel Caught in the Large Hadron Collider

So long, answers. We didn't love you enough
to remember the world, chain-smoking
from the cheap seats at the fronton, waiting
for our little universe to hit the Perfecta.
The world isn't small or standard. A roll
of duct tape could have fixed it, probably,
if we'd looked. Your nature wriggled in,
made a defiant snack of particular motion
we have the nerve to say we've tamed. Varmint,
we are looking for something born and gone
too soon after creation to be seen. You were
one of those. It will be dark within
this half-buried donut for a week, at least,
and we make busy to do anything besides
look for God in the usual way.

from a prompt by Mika Taylor