This is the poem I wrote the other day. I wasn’t sure if it wasn’t too—too I don’t know. Picking on him? What do you think? Appropriate for the collection? Not?

The Earth is held aloft by four elephants on the back
of a sea turtle.

I resemble a sea turtle with the same striations
in my neck.

The elephants are named for the four directions.

Each day I carry the distress of repeat-dialing
or provoked silence.

The sea turtle is a reincarnation of an improbable god.

I check Find my Friends over coffee, at lunchtime,
at the end of the day, before bed.

Elephants can haul their massive body weight, and
their knees won't buckle.

He forgets to go to work.

The sea turtle never sheds its shell.

He gets fired.

Elephants bathe themselves in dust.

He thinks his employer didn't properly
explain the nature of work.

Sea turtles can sense their place in the world by the
direction of the sun and Earth's magnetic field.

He loses his glasses, his keys, his wallet.

An elephants tusks are really teeth.

His neighbors complain about door bells
ringing in the middle of the night.

Sea turtles make great migrations to nest.

He needs money, a jumpstart, food more substantial
than microwave popcorn.

Certain species of elephant and sea turtle are endangered
and under conservation watch.

I consider joining a support group.