Now that we have reached Critical Mass,
Ayman al-Zawahiri calls our new president
a house negro, and we aren’t mad, we
just smile because it sounds so silly.
And when Rush Limbaugh sputters
that the majority of Americans
didn’t actually elect this president,
they just stayed home on Election Day,
it makes us want to hug and soothe his Inner Child.
“Poor Rush, it will be okay.”
And now that we have reached Critical Mass,
the media are nursing
Sarah Palin’s wounds.
Now that we have reached Critical Mass,
the leftover hot dogs from
the UW men’s basketball games
are no longer being thrown away
but are lovingly wrapped and given
to a food pantry.
Now that we have reached Critical Mass,
when Flight 1549 has to land
in the Hudson River,
ferry boats are there in thirty seconds
to save everyone on board.
The doctrine of Critical Mass teaches
that when the right amount of minds rise up,
the rest of us feel lighter, too.
But what about old energies?
They’re slowly, surely, drying up,
receding into shallow, stinky pools.
Their poison seems more potent
and more threatening,
but, really, it is drying up.
Every day now is a Crisis,
in the good sense of the word.
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