Jacob Bacharach

My kid is having anxiety that mandami won.
He fears the stars will fall and blot the sun
with steamed-up oceans cooking everyone;
he cries, like dying Jesus: Dad, it’s done!
and is likewise unanswered; they’ve outlawed fun;
they’ve handed every crook and pimp a gun;
they’ll fell the Freedom Tower with a megaton
and build that mosque instead. We’ve lost, my son.
Every fear we ever feared? Begun—
a wet a