Two Poems: Staci Halt
The Administration Considers Taxing Undergraduates’ Academic Merit Scholarships to Raise Money for Tax Cuts for Billionaires First and foremost my city is on fire. Secondmost, I didn’t collapse like a dying star when I—again, against my will—saw your beloved, Instagrammed by you, furled on your sofa, where once you held me; where I pretended you’d want me fixtured in your life, if many impossible conditions could be met. This is half a lie. Like how I planted a watermelon in my belly. I swallowed a seed when I was five at the L.A. County Fair. Impossible conditions aside, it never stopped growing in the dark garden inside me. I expect any moment, people will bear witness as it consumes me in earnest, encompassing me like a carapace. They’ll say, We didn’t know this whole time this was a prize melon! I think if you can’t profess a public sort of love, you might at least feel sorry for the state of things. The billionaires won’t, and somebody ought. The proud farmer who shows me off will slap my hard green bulk and whistle, She’s a beaut, listen to the wet, hollow thunk: almost like a heart. He’ll test the weight of me in his arms and say to the judge and admiring crowd: Just wait until we crack this baby open. For my part, I’ve imagined the QAnons are right about something. Like maybe JFK Junior is going