The Mayor, a pink, puffed-up toad,
receives me grandly at Hamlet Hall.
I was in Mumbai last year,
he intones. Drill for water,
and all you find is fire.
In Greenland, only ice.
Is this science? I wonder.
No, you mean melted ice:
that’s our crisis right now.
He barrels on, declaiming
from his script: Oh, y’all
may be in danger, on islands
and down by the shore. Drill,
and you’ll tap the sea.
First the fish come up,
then the dolphins and sharks,
the whale-sharks and whales…
The Leviathan, too, I laugh.
Why not? I stare into his eyes:
they’re a low-watt, empty blue.
Hey, there’s a wheel I can turn!
No, he objects. You’re a wimp.
But I’ve got the dude you need,
the boy who lives next door.
Only he can master the flow.
Mortimer… just “Mort” to us
in our plush retirement home.
Dirty glasses, orange shorts.
He smiles as we walk away.
The guy’s a moron, man.
You can turn that wheel,
same as me. But as soon as
you do, the world will drop
down a sinkhole, and it’ll seem
to be your fault. — Why seem?
I badger him... Why
no more than seem?
Author Bio:
Hoyt Rogers is a poet, writer, and translator. He translates from the French, German, Italian, and Spanish; he is known for his English versions of Bonnefoy, du Bouchet, and Borges. He has published many books; he has contributed poetry, fiction, essays, and translations to a wide variety of periodicals. His edition of Yves Bonnefoy’s Rome, 1630 received the 2021 Translation Prize from the French-American Foundation. His forthcoming works include a poetry collection, Thresholds (MadHat Press), the novel Sailing to Noon (book one of The Caribbean Trilogy), and a translation of Bonnefoy’s The Wandering Life (Seagull Books). For more information, please visit his website, hoytrogers.com
receives me grandly at Hamlet Hall.
I was in Mumbai last year,
he intones. Drill for water,
and all you find is fire.
In Greenland, only ice.
Is this science? I wonder.
No, you mean melted ice:
that’s our crisis right now.
He barrels on, declaiming
from his script: Oh, y’all
may be in danger, on islands
and down by the shore. Drill,
and you’ll tap the sea.
First the fish come up,
then the dolphins and sharks,
the whale-sharks and whales…
The Leviathan, too, I laugh.
Why not? I stare into his eyes:
they’re a low-watt, empty blue.
Hey, there’s a wheel I can turn!
No, he objects. You’re a wimp.
But I’ve got the dude you need,
the boy who lives next door.
Only he can master the flow.
Mortimer… just “Mort” to us
in our plush retirement home.
Dirty glasses, orange shorts.
He smiles as we walk away.
The guy’s a moron, man.
You can turn that wheel,
same as me. But as soon as
you do, the world will drop
down a sinkhole, and it’ll seem
to be your fault. — Why seem?
I badger him... Why
no more than seem?
Author Bio:
Hoyt Rogers is a poet, writer, and translator. He translates from the French, German, Italian, and Spanish; he is known for his English versions of Bonnefoy, du Bouchet, and Borges. He has published many books; he has contributed poetry, fiction, essays, and translations to a wide variety of periodicals. His edition of Yves Bonnefoy’s Rome, 1630 received the 2021 Translation Prize from the French-American Foundation. His forthcoming works include a poetry collection, Thresholds (MadHat Press), the novel Sailing to Noon (book one of The Caribbean Trilogy), and a translation of Bonnefoy’s The Wandering Life (Seagull Books). For more information, please visit his website, hoytrogers.com
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