i.

Some idiot took Jonestown
and encased it in a snowglobe.
The glass dome reveals sweltering
jungle foliage bombarded by
white flaking particles.

ii.

The mother and child rush into
the drugstore. “Be good,” she says,
“This will take about a minute.”
His mother argues with the pharmacist,
Jim Jones, about pills and co-pay.
She does not notice her child
disappear into the aisle.

The display with the transparent
spheres grabs at his attention. He
lifts the nearest trinket off the shelf
and rolls the toy utopia in his hands.

iii.

“White Night” begins, the real tragedy,
the rehearsal is over. Here come the men
in sweat-bleached shorts with gashes
on their sunburnt legs. They take the ravaged
children out of the well. Their mud-caked
lips drip blood. Their swollen eyes leak tears.
The men lead them back to the village.

Inside a melting plastic shack, the wilderness
beaten medic women are busy with infants.
Their tangled, matted hair hides
their expression as they roll out the hypodermics.
The syringes are primed with purple
liquid that looks right for the tropics.

The children from the well stop crying
and watch the needles disappear into
the newborns’ foreheads.
Grape juice, cyanide and valium.
The babies shut their eyes.

Now the children are offered
small plastic cups. Those who
can remember a time before
sun-scorched jungle think it is
Kool-Aid. “Drink,” say the
women with dirt smeared faces.
All the children from the well drink.

iv.

The boy in the drugstore has
a bleeding cracked lip, bruised arms
and swelling eyes. He leaves
the trinket on the floor and returns
to his mother’s side. She is still
arguing with sterile Jim Jones who
looks nothing like the grim encased
women in Guyana.

He tries to grab his mother’s hand—
he wants to go home—but she swats
him away. “This will only take
about a minute.” The pharmacist
behind the counter looks past
the woman and winks at her son.

The child wanders back to aisle.
Someone is picking up the discarded
snowglobe. She places it back
on the display and turns to face the boy.
Her yellow teeth smile, her humid-crazed
curls hide her expression, as she
offers the boy a small plastic cup.

He drinks. The mixture dribbles
down his chin and stains his shirt
collar violet.

v.

Later, the mother and child leave
the pharmacy. She buys her quiet,
well-behaved son a snowglobe and
displays it carelessly on his bedroom dresser.
She notices the purple stains on his
clothing and remembers the pitcher
of Kool-Aid in the refrigerator.
His shirt will need to be washed.