A Houyhnhnm's Scrapbook/Number 1/Quandary

I’ll find a way, I’ll grind myself quite fine
With a pestle, sift the dry dust through my fingers
Just at the edge next year of Adeline
Or Adelaide or Anna. If there lingers
The faintest trace, I’ll save up cobalt salts,
Read Einstein for the know-how, build a bomb
Rigged up to detonate at sound of schmalz
And slur Blue Heaven into kingdom come.
I see, of course, that wouldn’t work, so I’ll
Fill up the Shamrock pool with aqua regia
Fuming, alchemical, and dive a mile
From a Piper Cub, while rooters chant “Who needs ya?”
It sounds impractical. I’m asking you:
You see the problem. Tell me what to do.