Sandstorms drift through this old utopia of ours,
They blanket the gardens and fill in the pools,
Our dream of a paradise in the city seems
To be receiving a veto from our surroundings
It is a rare opportunity to act together at last,
We have to come out into the streets for now
Because we cannot drive by ourselves
Or stay in our homes as our ACs keep coughing
Many of us hate this newfound unity, not me,
I was among the first to head out when I felt
My room begin to return to the desert
We all thought had been paved over and forgotten
My origin story is no different than the others,
I came to live delicately in a fenced-off lot,
Never seeking any commune or communication,
Here in this vessel of peak Americana
But unlike the others, when I saw the orange
Clouds of the front moving towards us,
I realized the mandate of heaven was lost forever,
Time to adapt, to dig up grass and plant cacti
The sand is no longer settling down with us,
The wind is moving the piles towards the sea,
The sun is peeling the clouds to be seen
And I am happy, now that we can choke together
About Ben Nardolilli:
Ben Nardolilli is a theoretical MFA candidate at Long Island University. His work has appeared in Perigee Magazine, Door Is a Jar, The Delmarva Review, Red Fez, The Oklahoma Review, Quail Bell Magazine, and Slab. Follow his publishing journey at mirrorsponge.blogspot.com.