Samantha Fain

SONNET FOR BOJACK HORSEMAN

So much of us is lost to the dark. Blame
cosmic forces at play: planets in retrograde,
because no one would be washed up if they could help it.
No one would shatter glass on purpose. Right?
What even is forgiveness—a bad moon phasing,
a sunflower in bloom, not knowing where to gaze?
There are places for people like us, but we can’t
all fit on one spaceship. Besides, who
would shepherd? We unfold like enzymes.
Irrevocably damaged: motorcycling without helmets
just to see who stops us. The horrifying truth: we fuck up
and people still love us. We could nudge them off water towers
and convince them they slipped. Either way,
they’d thank us for one last good look of the city.