I found an octopus in your thermometer.
Its eyes looked human, its mouth was a dog’s.
Behind the sucking sounds of its tongue it
asked simple questions:
Will there be Sundays in October?
Will future religions worship electricity?
When will Manhattan’s tallest buildings
dismount from their tricycles?
I answered as best I could,
inhaling organized nonsense from my memory drain.
The octopus’ eyes grew skeptical.
Its mouth grew dry.
Bricks formed on its teeth.
How little wisdom can fail such a creature?