Mike Pence orders crops to be planted
in rows that curve like wings of birds
a child paints in the sky                    
                                            I explain
doing so won’t increase yield
will only complicate tilling                  
                                                 he gives me
a medieval frown:  

“Reason’s not sheriff in this little town and
truth is what’s seen by eyes of authority!”  

and the virus spreads, conjuring
a confounding god of egotism 
yearning for Babel and rubble.