X and Y by Chris Milea

X and Y by Chris Milea
The primrose will live on this planet for X more years; the main contribution to its desolation will be climate change or Y. More children are born every day than people who die; yet X children die daily because of Y. Sometimes, I know the facts, but people still say No, so now I just say X has died because of Y, have you heard?, and Y is our fault, which killed X, don’t you know?
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And they say Z, which I never say anymore. I marched in the street with X, cried when the television elected Y, sat crookedly in the corner comparing the two.
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Maybe I should move to city X. Maybe I should move to city X, and each day lie in the center of a busy place, and repeat Y, over and over. Maybe I should drink their coffee, in this city X, but never sit down while I do, in protest of Y. All of our sore glutes because we will not sit down, not anymore, not ever since Y. I publicly defame Y. I cry in my shower against the tyranny of Y. I try to break through the police line in my mind, I try to walk home, I try to ferry over to X . . .
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But everywhere I go, even if I want to play pretend, I always end up getting on about X and Y.
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What is so in-between about being X, so much so that you won’t, no matter what, be Y? Why are you so sure in this X-ness of yours? Don’t I make you sad? Aren’t you even more lonely than I am? Isn’t Y worse that it’s happened to X while we’re alive?


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