The Holocene

Culture, Poetry

Don Quixote accidentally killed
the only extant wild giant left
in the world; we called the proximate cause of death
acute misapprehension, then we chilled
some DNA for future generations
who with gods-offending hubris will
regrow the race for gate receipts, though still
remain afraid of their immense creations.
But the clonal giants will not breed,
and will not eat, nor lift the sagging sky,
nor much at all but mope and slowly die,
allergic to the atmosphere, badly in need
of supplementary dietary myth
and oceans of fresh water to take it with.

5 thoughts on “The Holocene

  1. I like the idea of “supplementary dietary myth,” but not sure about the cadence of that line. Also the way you set things up it sounds like they have far bigger problems than a vitamin deficiency, so the metaphor beginning with “badly in need of” seems a bit off.

    That was my only quibble, otherwise excellent. Love the title and concept.

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