NaPoWriMo #6: The Answer

The answer was discovered at the bottom of the well,
a child tied to it, who was either lost or a ghost,
who said it was okay if we left him there, life
had passed him since the 1970s, he couldn't survive
outside them.  When we read the solution, we knew
it would take a team of disgruntled clowns, a crew
of heavyweight fighters on their last bouts, a group
of angels who had knowledge of our secret lusts.
They began building, punching out the abode
we'd live in, where we'd install our high-powered
microscope and place a telescope on top to see
the stars and what promises they gave to others.
Meanwhile, we sketched out on paper our scheme
to defeat those who'd wreck our strategies,
the old man in the valley who sent smoke signals
to rampaging rattlesnakes, the lady with a rat
tattoo who summoned vermin to do her bidding.
When the hurricane came knocking on our door,
it was part of our caper, not an obstacle to it.
Its wind helped us float to the top of a skyscraper,
where we pretended to be UFOs, probe every
person who was left inside the building.  We found
the old stock market ticker, and replayed 1929
in slow motion, this time with exquisite knowledge
of the market's fall.  When we had made our dough,
we slid through the glass to our Batmobile,
which directed us to our new mansion, where
the circus had opened up, the acrobats flipping
on our roofs, the fights happening in rings, halos
glittering over our new heads, which could feel
the body now, which didn't have to pretend
they were skulls without motives or sense.
We understood when we opened the front door
that no butler would be there to welcome us,
just the cobwebs and skeletons wound in chains,
some of them wearing our watches, set to our time.