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The Rise of the Jellyfish 
by Austin Okopney

Imagine what kind of things jellyfish
would say if they could talk, floating around
with not much else to do.
They wouldn't be bustling around like us,
saying things like,
"I want to see him about this car" or
Je suis tellement excitée
(depending on which nation they're from).

What would it be like to live in a jellyfish
city, nebulous blobs suspended in water,
unrestricted by the Law of Gravity? Can you see it, gentle
tendrils moving, slipping, finger-licking.
What kind of secrets would jellyfish share?
The fall of man would most certainly bring about

the rise of the jellyfish. They'd flood the world once we move on,
and build an empire on top of our bones.
They'd be the brains and their fellow ocean denizens would
be the brawn. Subways and cars and white picket fences and
gardens to be re-imagined for use by the jellyfish.

Sleepy no-organ mischief makers,
angry alien deep-water shockers,
what will you do with this place?
Dear jellyfish,

Don't put our artifacts in museums. Don't
talk about us in weekend conventions in Des Moines.
Don't frame pictures of us or write books or study teeth.
Just don't. Instead.

Forget we existed. It's your turn to shine, jellyfish.

Yes, you heard me right. Forget about us.
Certainly you won't make the same mistakes.
After all, you're jellyfish.
Nothing can hurt you.
And when I mean nothing,
I most certainly mean nothing.

Originally this poem was incorrectly attributed to Ed Bennett. We apologise for the error.

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