The slightest shift in tenor
Presages the impending
Barrage of vitriol and virulence
Spewed upon all in the vicinity.
Unblinking, staring at their
Immaculate shoes, the guests pretend
Nothing out of the ordinary
Is happening, not here.
Carefully selected finery,
Arranged extravagant display,
A mesmerizing feast for
Some other time and place.
Stop me
If you’ve
Heard
This one.
Begin story.
Stop.
I’ve heard it.
Hurt feelings.
Not as easy as
It seemed.
There are stories
From long ago,
When his family lived
In the old country
And enjoyed vast
Land holdings,
Prosperous mills
That produced vast
Quantities of goods,
A lavish home on
A sprawling estate,
The envy of everyone,
All of it taken
From them in an instant,
A camera capturing
A moment in time,
Planting seeds of
Rage and discord,
Lashing out at the
Thieves that came
In the night and
Separated them from
Their supremacy.
Accustomed to
Doing
Whatever the want
Whenever they
Want to,
For whatever reason,
With absolute
Impunity,
No fear of
Retribution.
Bullies
Wearing
The right outfit,
Preying on
The vulnerable,
Enforcing the
Status quo,
Having a
Few laughs,
Disorderly.
They had the most superficial of
Relationships where they talked about
Mundane topics and tiptoed around everything
Else. Stifling whiffs of decay and disease
Barely contained by clattering lid.
In the name of civility they forgot to relate and
Share what was really going on, acknowledge the
Sleeping giant, the misunderstandings and
Resulting rancor that formed the glacier.
Small talk prevailed, reality restrained.
He bristles when people
Who are onto him get
Too close, revealing
Who he really is in
Uncomfortably realistic detail,
Unbearable to someone who
Thinks he’s pulling the wool
Over people’s eyes.
A cocky mess of prancing and
Posturing jerks and twitches.
The sad gyrations of a
Cavalier clown.
He dismisses as psychobabble
Any discussion of his true character.
Long days pass, filled with
Justifications and regrets
Never uttered out loud lest
Someone like him
Makes fun of them.
Self-appointed arbiters
Of morality and righteousness,
They incessantly harass everyone
To conform to their vision of
The world and more than
Just once in while
Fall from grace when it’s
Revealed that they’re as
Fallible or even more flawed
Than people who don’t portray
Themselves as paragons of virtue.
After the inevitable collapse,
They sit whining about how it’s
Everyone else’s fault while
Plotting their next steps toward
Imposing a crushing theocracy.
Helen volunteers at a
Local food pantry that
Helps people with far less
Than she has, though she
Can remember when she too
Had very little of anything.
She’s mostly chipper as
She greets the people who
Come in to ask for some
Kind of help, although
She’s particularly acerbic
About this one woman.
It seems this lowlife drives
Up to the building in
A fancy car, which rubs Helen
The wrong way, after all,
Poor people aren’t allowed
To do certain things.
The woman with the car
Never says a word, nobody
Knows her story, where she
Came from, what she had to
Overcome to get to this point,
And why she asks for assistance.
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.
