Once a year
They take off
Their blinders and
Gather some gifts
For the needy.
Once a year
They do something
To atone for their
Customary thoughts
And deeds.
Once a year
They pretend they
Are someone else,
A person who
Really cares.
Everything this day
Seems to be of outsized
Importance, immense
Consequence, no filter
In place, just raw,
Unadulterated displeasure.
She comes home
From school sobbing
And tells us that
Someone called her
A horrible name and
Everyone laughed
And pointed at her.
We hold her and
Comfort her as
Much as we can,
Memories of the
Same scenario
Roiling in our minds.
He comes from
Generational pain,
The kind that anchors
People to self-perceived
Stations, preventing
Forward movement,
Repeating the patterns
That keep them there.
He says he doesn’t
Have the answers
To fix all the problems
But he knows something
Needs to be done to
Alleviate the suffering,
But one gets the impression
He really doesn’t understand
Why the horrors persist and
Where change really comes from,
Personal experience being
At times a poor substitute
For genuine insight, compassion.
A stark verification of your place
In the order of things,
Crushing realization that
Things are as you thought they were,
Even though you hoped they weren’t.
They go about their business
Without any insight into
Who they are or why they
Behave the way they do,
Unfeeling, nongrowing, unchanging.
In order to hide
Who they really are
Deep inside, when
Outsiders aren’t around
To listen, everyone
Huddled around sharing
Hearty chuckles about
Some city-slicker or
Other person who
Is not like them,
They perpetuate stale
Myths about how they’re
The salt of the earth,
Misunderstood real folks,
Telling it how it is,
A worn ruse used to shift
The attention away from
What’s really going on.
In a city far away,
Countless mothers and fathers
Care for their children
And hope for love and
Warmth for all human beings
Wherever they may be.
I bend and bend
Until I’m almost
Broken, it won’t
Take much more to
Empty me of any
Hope I have left
That anyone cares
For someone
Like me.
Hoping something would change
After all these years,
But it doesn’t and
Likely never will,
The need to hide
Vulnerability
More powerful than
Any other thing,
A pervasive lie
Buttressed by people
Caught in its grip.
They get together and their
Collective brainpower
Devises an outmoded
Way of dealing with the
Matter at hand,
Favoring division,
Eliminating communication and
Any chance to fix anything,
An approach learned in places
Where people don’t know
How to talk about things.
