He sat down with his child,
Who looked up at him expectantly,
For what was billed as a
Friendly game but rapidly
Descended into a sordid battle
To assert supremacy and
Bolster self-worth at the expense of
A trusting, unsuspecting victim.
The merciless vanquishing of
A defenseless bird at the whim of an
Insatiably wanting coward.
Wake up and face the day,
A deep breath of self-righteousness,
Inner convictions bred by
Toxicity and despair.
Many decisions to be made,
People to disregard and marginalize.
Awash in unwavering moral certitude,
Drunk with dominance.
Shun independence of thought,
Nuance, compassion, critical thinking.
Common-sense corrupted,
Contaminated.
A fetid bandage hides what
You won’t look at in yourself.
Behind a stern moustache he was
Afraid of rainbows. They destroyed
The natural order of imposed
Dominance and rigid structure.
A sneer dismisses all vestiges of
Hope and fancy as a child laying
On his back, admiring clouds on a
Balmy day and jabbing a fork in his
Forearm to displace enjoyment.
Stop the fun, halt the relish,
Live where dreams go to die,
An unreturned greeting.
He woke up, like every other
Morning, and watched the
Early news while drinking
Instant coffee and eating the usual
Microwave breakfast sandwich,
Muttering to himself that
People should be satisfied with
What they’ve got and quit
Complaining about their
Situations. At least they’ve
Got jobs, they’re better off
Than where they came from.
Nobody ever handed me anything.
Life is hard, there’s no free rides.
The sun ascends above the
Horizon, its rays never
Disinfecting the ingrained
Scarcity of imagination.
On a balmy summer afternoon
She sits tending her booth,
Her lovely paintings on display.
A few people walk by and
Half-smile on their way
To somewhere else.
Others comment or
Ask questions, making
Polite small talk.
Occasionally, someone
Seems genuinely interested
In one of her works.
At the end of the day,
She realizes that this
Was not her audience.
A stupefying world of
Tepid vanilla,
Drones marching in
Unison to the call of
Conformity, each one
The same as the last,
Quick-drying cement
Encasing creativity,
Voices muffled,
Flowers trampled.
I would always get
A strange feeling
When they came around,
A persistent unease
Warning me that something
Could very easily go wrong
And had many times before.
Others seemed not to notice it,
Perhaps more familiar with
That type of energy.
I didn’t know what it was then,
But I do now and I still
Heed the voice that tells me
Something is amiss.
I try to make it fit
But in the process
Realize I am devoting
Far too much time to
Forcing something into
A box in which it
Doesn’t belong, not
Because of any glaring
Lack of merit, but simply
Due to it’s dissimilarity.
You’re great,
No, you’re great,
I’m great,
That’s right,
You are great,
We’re all great,
All on the same
Level, we recognize
Each other and are
Comfortable,
All broken.
