Cross-cut closeups of disappointed faces,
everyone leaning against lockers. Fear, language,
gore, smoking, a primordial stew in the primitive ocean.
I couldn’t wait for it all to be over—
saxophone solos, pep rallies, the sharp smell
of nail polish remover. How could life develop
in such an atmosphere? But there we were in biology class
watching soap-bubbles self-organize in a tray.
Making observations on membranes,
on the absurdity of love songs and lab partners.
Accidentally pouring the unknown down the drain.
Diluting our parents’ gin on purpose. Trying to decide
which things we did were truly dangerous
with only a few well-xeroxed handouts to go by.
Crude sexual content, fantasy violence,
heart shaped pills from a friend of a friend.
Almost everything our teachers told us was wrong.
Now we know life rode in on the tail of a comet,
bubbled up from an underground vent,
was implied through suggestive dialogue.
Maybe we’ll find out the truth in the next episode—
Do you think I’m emotionally arrested?
When the authorities came, everyone climbed up
on the roof of the pool clubhouse,
but I’ve always been a little slow.
I made it out of the water, though. I made it out
of the teen partying and thematic material.
Crawled onto the pool apron,
got to my feet as the others disappeared.
It only took me like a billion years.