Occurrence
It occurs to me that I am America.
—Allen Ginsberg, “America”
I, also, put my shoulder to the wheel.
It inched along, until a ratchet caught
and spun it back. We couldn’t help but feel
exhausted, undermined, and overwrought,
but shrugged, and set our stance, and strove once more
to turn the great wheel forward. And again
the ratchet caught that slippery tooth and bore
the wheel back where we started. It was then
The Myth of Sisyphus got passed around
and everyone got serious but laughed
like stevedores and got the gears unwound,
we thought, and sped the wheel about its shaft.
Not far or fast enough. The wheel snapped back.
Dear Allen, we’re still picking up the slack.