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Why Gulliver Doesn’t Travel Anymore

Why Gulliver Doesn’t Travel Anymore
C. G. Hart

i’m just one of many.  No—
just one, trying to be one, of many.

an embryo in the belly of an ant
if ants were able to carry that weight.

I unfurl my folded flesh
in order to sail to Lilliput.

refused customs entry—for I had cracked
the other end of my breakfast egg.

my mooring at Brobdingnag lasted
until I bragged about bullying others

with our politics and endless wars.
a giant faux pas, making me feel small.

hiking through Kicking Horse Pass
into the fields of Houyhnhnms

tranquility blows a kiss of harmony
to an old mare of wisdom and grace—

while grazing on the sheaves of pure reason.

but my thoughts of staying were squashed.
Yahoos flipped the pasture to a pig pen.

snouts rooting greed and corruption,
off-gassing deliberate ignorance.

sails caught wind of the methane gas.
I raced away.

on Glubbdubdrib, leis hung round my neck
made of flowers of fentanyl and Xylazine—

an addictive floral fragrance lifting me higher.
no wonder we moved like zombies.

all so magical until I tore them off.

recovering, a bright light pierced my pupils—
the brilliance of the Laputans’ light:

math, music and astronomy—
ignoring everyone, everything—

an illumination, sun-bright.
a magnifying glass burns thought—like ants.

at Balnibarbi, fame-chasing scientists
tried to extract sunlight from cucumbers—

to be stored for later use.
they tried building houses from the roof down—

ground-breaking absurdity.

on Luggnagg, home of the Struldbrugs,
birthday candles were outlawed as a fire hazard—

talk about having your cake and eating it too!

birthday card verses spell a lifetime dream,
keeping the eternal birthday candles lit.

wrinkles are carbon dated for age.
elders dot the landscape as mounds of skin.

Halts & Son Funeral Home, long abandoned—

the island mortality rate is zero,
and will always be.

I pulled up anchor, craving an ending
after endless birthday cake, ad nauseam.

it’s time to blow out my adventure—
try to be more ant-like.
without the colony.

Copyright © Casey Hart

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