was probably the peak of human existence.
Oh Parthenon, oh Angkor Wat, oh Tour
Eiffel; oh Koine Greek, oh cellar door;
oh Mansa Musa’s hajj, oh French Resistence—
each eked-out living young adult’s insistence:
his time and place were what time tilted toward—
and every other epoch? Drab, and bored.
Oh, to see that skyline in the middle distance,
from the roof where you are drinking beer;
the editorial assistantship
your mom’s friend’s lawyer hooked you up with pays
30K; date girls but say you’re queer;
call your dad’s old Acura your whip—
all history’s intention, or its anyways.