The town needed a new mayor. 
As usual, no one wanted to do it.
My severe anxiety makes me a poor candidate, 
said one woman. Oh please, said a man. 
That’s nothing. I am literally a psychopath. 
The meeting had reached an impasse. 
So be it, announced the eldest librarian. 
Bring out Harold. The glass cage 
containing the small yellow lizard 
was fetched from its official chamber. 
The librarian removed the lid and turned 
the cage onto its side, allowing Harold 
to step into the light. The crowd fell silent
in the presence of a cousin consciousness. 
For ten seconds, Harold stood motionless. 
I glanced at Angelika, who was staring 
fixedly at the lizard. The stakes were high 
for her—I knew that—and her furrowed 
brow betrayed it. I stared at Harold too, 
directly into his dark, indecipherable eyes. 
He pivoted, took one step to his left, then paused. 
Would he pick Delmore, as had long 
been speculated? A whole tense minute 
passed like this, during which he seemed
to be gazing at all of us at once— 
and not just at us, but also at our children, 
our decisions, and all of the awful music 
we had allowed to grow popular.
Without warning, Harold turned 
and ran back into his cage! 
We rejoiced, even as the librarian 
began to weep. Of course we understood 
what this meant: we were free now 
to destroy ourselves in peace.