JENNIFER H. FORTIN

In a Time of Excess and Hopeless Transport

My generation stages an exaggerated straight
tooth. Contemporary bank tellers are irritated

by coins scooped and told about paper.
Congratulations is getting old,

comprehending abbreviated accounts.
Please let’s not ignore the urge to decreate.

Alert galleries surrounding the temple.
Transport a glass of liquid the circumference

of the city in your pocket;
transport the Internet, the last frontier,

roomy cruelties. Like a bladder,
the pocket expands. The delivery man is here because

it occurred to me I could let him
in, romance can include love.

Transport long-distance views, and I
will breathe about something larger,

but not so large that reminders prompt
my feeling fingers toward a contact surface.