Pandemic Poetry | from the Victorious Ones by Chris Nealon

from The Victorious Ones

Chris Nealon

Then came fire
It wasn’t yet a new world, or the end of the old one
But water, money, feeling overspilled their banks
There was finally something real to be afraid of
There was finally no reason to fear
Even animals approached us as they hadn’t in ten thousand years
Buildings were either shelter or they weren’t
Music got quiet
And poetry—
Poetry began to ask the question it had hidden in the forest
Poetry returned to lists, enumeration, inventory
It chose sides
This was not the same as prophecy
Look around you now and ask yourself
Which of these—
The innovators, profit-makers, the ones behind high walls
The ones who are planning for the great catastrophes --
Or the one with no ability to plan,
Who live from hour to hour, year to year,
In who terror waits to be uncurdled,
Who live in the great wide world--
Which of these will be the victorious ones?
Nobody knows.