A Cure for the Common Meme

Mallards and beaver rats clash over scraps
of stale bread. The scene is gruesome.
Some stand and cheer
from the sidelines. Though moved,
we merely watch from the bleachers, toss

the occasional crust into the mix.
Armed to the teeth
but unsure of our targets, we keep
the guns tucked under our shirts. That, at least,
is how it looks from here, watching

the action replay on TV. This feels
something like relief. Lies are more simple.
In Homer you always know
who you're getting. But the gods would make
a meal of us for sure, if only they could

pry themselves from the tube
for a minute or two. We're their favorite show,
and seem to them
too much like themselves. The trick:
to know what and why and how to forget.