Doing nothing at all
And still enjoying
Each other’s company.
Thoughtful conversations
Imbued with empathy,
Listening, depth.
Silly jokes
About anything
And everything.
The lone frontiersman
Who lives by his
Sheer grit and determination,
Fending for himself
Against all odds,
Not beholden to anyone,
A rugged individualist
Who kowtows to no one,
Takes care of himself
And his own and never
Asks for outside help,
An outdated construct
Invoked to undermine
Social conscience,
The greater good,
Civilized society.
He relives not only
The trauma,
But also the expectation
That it remain a secret
So as not to blemish a
False image of respectability,
Along with being told
It was his fault
In the first place,
That situations like this
Are normal anyway,
Forcibly wiring his forming brain,
Ensuring a lifetime of torment.
It stares back at me
Daring me to do something,
To create anything
Of consequence, some idea
Not previously conceived,
A feeling revealed anew,
Some treasure that
Lends new life to an
Unsuspecting passerby.
An old tree stands
Alone on the edge
Of the pond,
The last one of
His family to enjoy
The gentle breeze
Blowing across the
Water, the birds
Visiting from faraway
Places, the people
Resting in its shade,
The magic of being.
Raised to be
Hard, tough,
Infallible.
A
Flimsy
Facade.
Outwardly
Confident,
Inwardly fragile.
Mom would always
Look stoically into
The distance as
We stood in line
To get that week’s
Staples, handed to
Us in bags, provided
By people we never met
But who had hearts
Able to feel for others
Who might not have
The same opportunities
As them or who are
Where they once were.
As disasters both
Natural and man-made
Tear at the landscape,
One wonders whether
They still adhere to their
Premise that charities can
Take care of everything,
Even though it’s nonsensical to
Believe that people would give
Billions upon billions,
Over and over,
To help those ravaged by misfortune,
But there’s no way to
Talk them out of their misguided
Fantasies rooted in pessimistic
Dogma rather than reality.
Lounging in air-conditioned
Comfort, Flipping absent-mindedly
Through hundreds of TV channels,
She bemoans the fact that
Everything is so boring,
That there’s nothing to do in this
Swanky neighborhood, that
They’ve gone to all the restaurants,
Shopped at all the stores,
Attended every gala,
Socialized with all the right people, and
Never for one second thought about
The little girl sitting in a
Sweltering shanty, wondering if
She’ll have anything to eat today.
