Look away.
Nothing to see here.
Please don’t bother us
While we do things
To make your life
Miserable.
Sitting in a stifling classroom,
Looking out the window,
The occasional visitor
Walking resignedly
Toward the office,
A bird flying by,
Glad it’s not in this
Algebra class,
Reveling in its freedom.
An intense stare confirms that
The clock is barely moving
And that the subject at
Hand is all but unbearable,
Incomprehensible to some minds,
Though nobody seems to care.
Neil is an autoworker
And is clapping joyfully
On election night as
He watches his favorite
Candidate (the one who
Champions Right to Work laws)
Pull ahead in the polls,
The likely winner of a
Hard-fought campaign.
When he takes office,
Auto assembly line workers,
And everyone else,
Will not be able to organize
Against the whims of
Their employers
(The very thing that helped
Build the middle class)
Earn a respectable wage,
Buy a house, a car,
Support a family,
Put a kid through college,
Live with some dignity
Instead of as prey for
An insatiable corporation.
Facing each other
In a quiet room,
She lets her guard down,
Talking about things
That haven’t been
Allowed to surface before.
He interrupts her,
It being more important
To show how wise he is
Than to simply listen.
Delivering yet another
Monologue
On the same tired subject
He’s recounted a thousand
Times before, it’s
Depressingly
Discernible that he’s
Never listened to
Someone else’s
Point of view or
Made room for any other
Narrative but his.
A traveling salesman
Rolls his cart
Into town and begins
Barking jovially about
His magic cure-all
Tonic called
The Free Market,
The guaranteed fix
For whatever ails you.
A crowd gathers,
Mesmerized by his
Persuasive message,
Buying bottle after
Bottle of the stuff,
Hurrying home to
Try the magic elixir.
Hours later, they
Lie in their beds,
Clutching their bellies.
A couple of towns over,
Another group of people
Gathers on main street.
I take a chance to
Speak my mind and I’m
Instantly uneasy,
Such is the nature of
Consciousness, a moment of
Certainty followed by
Inevitable questioning.
What the answers might be,
I don’t know, though
Others assert they do;
I don’t believe them,
It’s always the ones who
Say they know everything
Who really have no clue.
Love conditional,
Kindness doled out
In meager portions,
Dependent on
Self-interest,
How it makes
Him look, not how
It makes the other
Person feel.
Cold,
Calculating,
A cornucopia
Brimming
With nothing.
A hapless, powerless
Human being is beaten
To a bloody pulp
And allowed to die
By a group of arrogant,
Reckless hooligans
Employed by the state.
A tormented community
Takes to the streets,
Venting repressed anger,
A shared history of
Maltreatment and prosecution.
A smarmy politician
Bemoans the destruction.
