This week, a bunny was massacred at the end of our driveway. My wife cleaned up the gutsack and put it out with the trash. Compared to that mess, I’m a Bezosian bon vivant eating decently in the animal kingdom. Compared to the Odyssey, though, my time passes like a Greek Salad. “What’s the lesson again?” Something about bliss inequality. Something about kissing the windshield. Something about the miracle of a Polaroid or the lifespan of a goldfish in the grand ol’ fishbowl. Share the Wealth falls down the stairs like a Nude Descending into the political void. Maureen and Co. (i.e. barretted grandpa, coven of literature lovers, Un-Nerudan Mainers, Calvin and Hobbes) put on a masterclass in uselessness with a prize-winning pear pinned to their blessed blazers. She’s a woman-child sluicing Wild Turkey with her “who knows?” and “what nows?” and wanton wheatgrass mustache. She’s a lazy modernist, lousy with poems, talking back to God. Share the Wealth by Maureen Thorson (Veliz Books, 2022).
