Nathan Tompkins

Nathan Tompkins
is a writer living just outside of Portland, Oregon.  His work has appeared in many publications including Wilderness House Literary Review, Hobo Camp Review, and Windfall:  A Journal of Poetry of Place.  His most recent chapbook Howl Drunkenly at the Moon (Alien Buddha Press) was published in 2018.

Trolling a Future Archaeologist

Someday, an alien archaeologist will
stumble on the bones of this world.
I hope they unearth the holy text
written on my pages and wonder
at the whiskey gods, the depression gods,
the anxiety gods, the gods of this fucked up species.

I want them to believe we worshipped
empty bottles and packed bongs,
that we sacrificed dildos on stuffed unicorns
the horn armoured in used condoms,
as we drank and smoked, danced around
the time stained equine altar.

I want them to think our tattoos are sacred badges
spread upon our divine living canvas,
the tramp stamp brand of the Anal Priests,
the barbed wires in a tribal dance on the arms
symbolise life’s shifting patterns
with the revolution around the sun,
the chicken scratches carved by wire dipped in ink
in penance and supplication to the lunar tides.

I want them to believe we dressed our pets
and prayed to their photographs like honoured saints.

Any of this would be preferable to the truth,
that Cassandra shouted down to us from the gates of Stockholm,
“Beware of Businessmen Bearing Gifts”
and we pointed at her, laughed, taped her
with our smartphones, and yelled at her to jump.

Then, we watched Youtube videos of funny animals,
and lit a match as we set our home ablaze,
sat down on the floor, and took a fucking selfie.

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