Jeff Whitney

Some Thoughts after Hearing a Youth Pastor Say Jesus Was the First to Be Cancelled

But some of the best shows were cancelled. I loved Firefly
because I want to believe there will be room in space
and in the future for cowboys. And though I embarrassed my brother
when he and his friends were watching Star Trek by saying
“Set phasers to fun,” I still maintain it was a holy act as anything
that breathes life into life is holy. How historians wonder how
certain wonders were built. It remains mysterious because we want mystery
never to end. Green light another seven million seasons! Paint opened eyes
over mystery’s sleepy ones like silver on the faces of death-tickled
politicians in ancient times! There’s this chicken-egg debate I’ve been having
for the last three minutes: if, in language, questions arose first, or statements.
Question: “Do you see that giant woolly mammoth tearing apart Alan?”
vs. Statement: “Set spears to kill.” You see? It could have been either
or neither. What I love about having a brother is you can say things
like my brother once lifted me up on the playground by my ankles, held me upside down,
then let go. What I love about having a brother is when I best him in Eclipse,
that multi-hour, dining room table-sized space conquest board game—how
my starships, too numerous and quick, overwhelm his home planet.
It bothers him because it’s important to be in the middle of something
bothering. Like the Internet peeking its little head up just now, connecting me
to my life, then shying off, as if I’ve never had any moments before
this, just a series of unevents. I almost said “a series in sequence” as though
series and sequence are twins separated by birth. Which they are, and we know that
because we read it just now. I’ve built up a solid economy, and shorn up
the fringes of my empire. In other words, like Hugo said, I’m in control
like Genghis Khan. My brother calls to talk about his life and the war,
as war is his job. He knows no amount of training can keep you alive
if the force against you is too powerful. It’s why they make twenty-sided dice
for games of fantasy, or have terms like “critical roll.” Direct Hit. You sunk
my sense of immortality, and here I was going to let you in on the secret
to winning any game of strategy, a method used by my wife one night
when she didn’t want to play anymore: when the other player goes to another room
pick up the pieces and put the board game away, then put on a movie and act
nonchalant. The movie is about justice in space. Or it’s a show where nobody can tell
who’s a robot and who’s not, as each season we learn the identity of more robots
so if it kept going you would no longer ask who is the robot among these people
but who is the person. My guess is the one bragging after sinking a long-range three
in space basketball, then lassoing space beetles on a space horse. Clad in metal
and denim, and tired from a long day of saving humanity, we watch him strip to nothing.

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Jeff Whitney's most recent chapbook is Sixteen Stories (Flume Press, 2022). His poems can be found or found soon in Adroit, Bennington Review, Gulf Coast, Kenyon Review, Missouri Review, Pleiades, Poetry Northwest and Sixth Finch. He lives with his wife in Portland. For more info, visit www.jeffwhitneypoetry.com.