Turritopsis dohrnii is the spitting image of
a slice of maraschino cherry in aspic
surrounded by slender tentacles identical to
the vermicelli-like branches on
my Aunt Penny’s fiber-optic Christmas tree.
While randy Imperial Romans rhapsodized over Venus,
Vikings and Skrælings skirmished in Vinland,
Wyomingite women menstruated messily into pioneer petticoats,
Polari-speaking sodomites got arrested in swinging London,
and the French Fifth Republic lopped off its last head,
the immortal jellyfish jauntily propelled itself
or reposed peacefully as a polyp,
smugly shrugging off
our necrophobic neuroses.
