Going Uptown

by Jason Nelson

There are five of us. Well, maybe there is only me sitting by myself.

Or quite possibly there are twelve asking for more chili and more

plates, more conversations about others who haven’t arrived. Aside from

the numbers, aside from who is, or isn’t here, are the chairs. The need

to sit is what makes all of us much, so much more compatible. And

watching those who have to stand is the only act left making me happy.

Concussion:One

I like to watch it snow. Air forms water forms ice forms geometry. But

it doesn’t snow here anymore. Not because it’s too warm or too dry. Not

because someone built a towering pup tent ten-thousand miles wide. Not

because just because. Instead, this place, alone among all places, has

banned geometric shapes. It wasn’t the people who lived in this place,

or the super-smart chimps at the university lab, who banned geometry.

But rather it was the place itself who was angry with angled corners and

diameters. Oh yes, using the word “who” is appropriate for this bitter

landscape. When the soil and buildings and weather patterns, all the

interlocking entities that create a geographic parcel, decide to banish

squares, circles, triangles and straight lines, that place becomes

human. Sure, this new human will weigh millions of tons, and die of

thirst before enjoying any of our animalistic fleshy pleasures. But

being briefly human is something even the snow wishes as it swirls down

to taste our tongues.