Dear 2015
by Sam Pierstorff
You were not my first year, and you will certainly
not be my last, but as far as years go, you were the worst.
You brought us “man buns” and Donald Trump.
You let ISIS wreak havoc in Paris and San Bernardino.
You let the Patriots win another Super Bowl
with a football as soft as an old man’s scrotum.
You knocked out Ronda Rousey, turned her face
into a punching bag, but you didn’t stop there.
You turned Bruce into Caitlyn Jenner—made
a 66-year-old man the sexiest woman alive.
You turned everyone’s favorite pediatrician,
Dr. Heathcliff Huxtable, into the world’s
most feared gynecologist.
It was on your watch, 2015, when Kimye
brought forth a Saint into the world just months
after his mother’s a** broke the Internet.
You gave birth to Kim Davis who gave life
to anti-gay marriage crusaders. You gave us
50 Shades of Grey and Miley Cyrus’ tongue.
Worst yet, you stood still as Ferguson
and Baltimore rioted—black clouds still visible
from blue flames that ignited liquor stores
and schools that had no books inside left to burn.
You gave us Syrian refugees, divided the country
by fear and love, and left us searching
for common denominators.
But soon you will be a shadow as the bright lights of 2016
rise above the almond orchards you forgot to water.
Clouds will rain love. People will find gratefulness
in the smiles of children. Hugs will replace high fives.
Peace will be the new iPhone: everybody will line up
for miles to get a chance to hold it in their hands,
to marvel at its design—its simple, perfect shape,
and the way its mirrored glass reflects the beauty
of those who hold it firmly in their hands.
