Blessed Are the Zoomers

Golden Shovel Messiah, Part 2

It's me again, your one and only savior, continuing to celebrate my birthday month! Here's my second installment of golden shovels inspired by Handel's Messiah. If you've got no idea what I'm talking about with said golden shovels, check out my post from last week, which describes the form and its origins. Too much sloth today? I'll give you a hint about the form. Read the last word of each line of this poem, then take a listen to the eighth track of Messiah. Or fine, just read Isaiah 9:6. Cool, right? And yes, I know this poem will be cringe to the younger crowd. Deal with it. I love y'all. 

Blessed Are the Zoomers

I know this gangly sophomore in Ohio—Clayden—his
alpaca hair such a presence on his forehead it deserves its own name.
He’s given up wondering whether the seething earth shall
last beyond his graduation or if his future will eventually be
orchestrated (I mean, more than it is) by an AI regime called
the Muskaverse. Rot away on TikTok? Sure, he shrugs. Wonderful.
I can’t lie: that bracey grin endeared me when the counselor
asked what inner pain led him to scrawl I am Dickhead Almighty
on the mental wellness questionnaire. Does he believe in me/God?
It’s a process. Today in physics he shuddered at the everlasting
implications of the Omega Nebula. He makes dinner when his father
“works late” again, mom crying. There’s more to my Playstation prince
than meets the eye. Verily, he low-key slaps. Let's chill, my man. Peace.