Welcome to the Age of Poetic Justice

Why fight the system when you can recycle a stanza

Hey, girl.

I know you’ve been feeling down in the dumps about the death of democracy and all. Same here, boo. I was considering contributing to Kamala’s post-mortem coffers after Nancy Pelosi texted me for the 37th time, or reconvening that White Women for Harris Zoom for old times’ sake. Then I wondered if my resources would be better spent on a Substack devoted to “deep dives” on the rise of tyranny, particularly for those with pre-existing and post-trauma conditions. 

But then, something happened: I canceled my X account, and started spending more time on Instagram. Holy shit! Have you ever seen so much inspirational poetry presented in interesting fonts? It’s energizing! Much less vexing than reading the newspaper and far less aerobically challenging than digging up your old, fraying pink pussy hat and taking to the streets. As Shakespeare said: “the ladies doth protest too much, methinks.” Methinks too! 

As a lifelong Democrat, you may have gotten your ass handed to you – we lost the Presidency, the Senate and the House of Representatives (womp, womp) – but guess what? Your college roommate can DM you a whimsical Maya Angelou quote and you’ll be fucking good to go. 

Phenomenally.

Phenomenal woman,

That’s me.

Your soul will be fed, and you’ll be high on life, a phenomenal woman, for the rest of the day. The next time Matt Gaetz gets embroiled in a human trafficking scandal – an alleged human-trafficking scandal, that is – just turn to the sweet lyrical stylings of Rebecca Solnit and reflect on the impossibility of action without hope. And thank goddess for Kate Baer, whose Instagram poetry is here to remind us to stop listening to The Daily and to ask our friends: have you seen the moon?

I shit you not. When you see that James Baldwin quote about his love for America in spite of all its flaws–yes, the one featuring a handsome portrait that’s been making the rounds–you will lose your damn mind with joy and appreciation for our perfectly imperfect union. When I got a push notification today that had me sobbing into my cereal–something about a wrestling executive taking over the Department of Education–my husband was like, “Hon, what you need right now is a little Langston Hughes.” And, lord, was he onto something!

These are memes vibrating with meaning! These are memes here to save us! When your friend Jenny confesses that she still hasn’t gotten out of bed since That Terrible Wednesday Morning, you can be like, “Wake the fuck up, girl! Jazmine just posted the sickest poem by William Wordsworth!” And then you can read her a stanza to whet her appetite:

The world is too much with us; late and soon,

Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers;—

Little we see in Nature that is ours;

We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon!

Jenny will sit up and realize that there is more to life than marrying that Canadian with a combover who works in accounts receivable should she need to decamp to Winnipeg. “Holy shit!” she will decree, her voice loud and majestic as a church bell in an Italian town square. “Did someone say a sordid boon? Losing was worth it for this!” 

It’s not just a matter of cheering up your loved ones. Once you get the hang of it and know the right #hashtags to follow, you can use words of wisdom to flex in the age of impending fascism. You may not have been able to attend that fundraiser with the abortion-rights aerialists but now you can let your competitive streak fly. Remember how good it felt to one-up your friends with your chaturanga arms? That feeling will be multiplied many times over when you post a hot stanza from that beautiful girl who busted out in spoken word at Biden’s inauguration while serving lewks in head-to-toe Prada. Talk about virtue signaling! So dazzled your contacts will be by your taste in literature – your worldliness (and wordiness!) – that they will forget about the rise of a sociopathic oligarchy that threatens the rules-based international order. You might not be able to do anything about the endangered immigrant populations, the rise of antisemitism and the skyrocketing anxiety of teenage girls but there’s hope, in the form of an Emily Dickinson quotation about hope.

And listen up: if you’re concerned about the return of polio or the reversal of the most successful public-health program in history–hello, fluoridation–just check out poemhunter.com and you won’t even care that your teeth are going to fall out next year. Incisors and workers’ rights are nice and all, but you will be making a profound difference with your carousel of inspiration. 

Babe? I just saw what you added to your feed and hoo boy, I need to sit down. I haven’t been this excited since Jesse Friedberg asked me to leave that party with him the second semester of freshman year. My knickers are in a twist. I am not wearing a hat but if I were I’d be holding onto it so tight. 

Isn’t it funny that we spent the last year writing checks, calling our representatives and making jokes about a Big Mac-snarfing sex offender felon when we just could have been scouring the pages of poetry books for buoying bon mots? The Democrats might not have a strategy but at least we have Sharon Olds! And in case you don’t know the ditty I am referring to, I am pasting a portion of it below. 

Dear dirt, I am sorry I slighted you,

I thought that you were only the background

for the leading characters—the plants

and animals and human animals.

That’s how it starts. Ringing any bells?

Subtle, various,

sensitive, you are the skin of our terrain,

you’re our democracy. 

Feel free to format and then share these words far and wide—anything but Comic Sans, please. And if you tag me, that would be so fucking dope.

P.S. If you enjoyed this, please feel free to share a meme-ified version on Facebook or just order our book. If you didn’t enjoy it, you can still order our book and give it to someone you hate.