Tonight's Poet Corner: I'm [Not] Crazy

I'm [Not] Crazy
by Belinda Roddie

We all have conspiracy theories
stuffed in our back pockets. They leak
oil and blood and pus and everything
cancerous that could kill us. Above
our heads, the jets leave chemtrails
that are meant to turn our lungs black
like the charred remains of pseudo-terroristic
threats. I swear, they're out to get us.

I don't leave my house. I sit in the corner
and face east or west, because north and south
are just too convenient, and they show up
everywhere in history. Remember the Civil
War? Do not trust the poles, their magnetic
pulls, their leverage on our brains. That's exactly
what the aliens would want from us.

I like to think my "conspiracies" aren't
conspiracies at all, that they're real, and that
there are layers to the foundations of all
we find rational and matter-of-fact. Maybe
some day, I'll peel off my tin foil hat and go on
an adventure, scavenging for meteorite shards,
questioning Mayan shadows, determining
that my fate is different from everyone else's.