Prose Poem: The Good Luck Bog.

 

So my fiance Alice and I went to

this good luck bog in Ohio,

where couples throw in an old shoe

or boot to bring good luck to their

marriage.

*

The place was a tourist trap,

of course; but both of us like

chintzy and quaint things.

We didn't have a shoe or boot

to toss into the bog; we threw in

a six pack of Mountain Dew.

*

Then a strange thing happened.

The mist hanging over the bog congealed

into human form and addressed us thus:

"I am the Spirit of the Bog. Come with

me, you foolish mortals, and see

what your thoughtless actions have

done to the future!"

Then she tapped each of us on the

head with a mop handle, transporting

us hundreds of years into the future.

*

Then we saw that our six pack of

Mountain Dew, combining with the tanin

in the sphagnum moss, had slowly vaporized

into a psychotropic gas that made people

believe they were monarch butterflies.

Hundreds, then thousands, of people migrated

to Mexico, where they perished from a lack

of nectar.

*

This in turn led Mexico to declare war

against the United States. Being the 

weaker nation, Mexico hired Taliban

mercenaries from Afghanistan and 

Communist mercenaries from North Korea.

*

The ensuing slaughter was terrible.

No one was left on the North American

continent except the Inuit way up North,

who had hid in the bog myrtle.

*

When we were returned to our own time

the Spirit of the Bog returned our six pack

to us and disappeared.

We drank the Mountain Dew and 

threw Alice's mother into the bog instead.

It was the organic thing to do.