I once saw a political cartoon about a post-apocalyptic world. In it, a man is walking, carrying a portable TV, needing a socket. That’s how I felt after the 2016 presidential election. I went looking for a face on television that would tell me what happened and what next. Then this poem arrived, from an old friend. As I read and then spoke his words, I begin to understand — not what happened, nor why — but how I am to be rendered.