She conflates liberty
With fear, harshness,
Selfishness, tribalism;
A martial solution to
Every perceived problem,
Freedom meted at the
End of a weapon,
Without any deliberation,
Remorse.
Perpetrators posing as victims,
Misdirected scorn.
Gird the wagons,
The sky is surely falling
Today, tomorrow, always.
He knows exactly
Where they all are,
Ready to help him
When they show up,
He’s rehearsed it
Many times in his head,
A twitching crusader
For absolute order,
Pitifully unsafe in
The midst of all
His friends, the
Ones that don’t talk
Back, that make him
Feel more potent,
Briefly worthwhile,
Some kind of cowboy.
It is said that only twenty percent
Of people are able to change an
Undesirable behavior, even when
They experience severely negative or
Life-threatening consequences, and
Eighty percent will continue doing
The same thing until it consumes them,
Unable to change, emphatically
Assuring themselves that things are
Going much better than they are.
She stares at the
Shifting, fuzzy image
Of her husband and
Tells him all the
Mundane but grounding
News about what’s going
On at home, the children
Take turns saying hello,
Too young to realize
What’s really going on.
She asks once again
When he’ll be home and
Gets the same answer.
They sign off with a
Kiss, fingers on
The screen, bit players
In the latest conflict
Lining the pockets of
The usual opportunists.
I can’t say that
I ever thought he’d
Be the same as me
But I must admit that
I never considered
The possibility that
He felt nothing inside,
An animated creature
That behaves only
According to its latest
Whim, whatever it desires
At that particular moment,
With no regard for
Anyone who might be
In the vicinity.
An assemblage of
Caring individuals.
Moms, dads, children,
Brothers, sisters,
Grandmothers, grandfathers,
Aunts, uncles, cousins,
Friends, trades people,
Professors, teachers,
Business owners,
Students, factory workers,
Truckers, public employees,
Pilots, retail workers,
Writers, artists;
Representatives from
Every slice of life,
March down the street
Standing up for the vast
Majority of the citizenry,
An earnest call for greater
Equality, opportunity.
From windows above,
They nudge each other,
Laugh, and shout,
“Get a job!”
They no longer talk,
And he concocts
A story that makes
Him look like he
Has no part in the
Conflict when he,
In reality, bears
The brunt of all
His relationship
Failures, a reality
He can’t escape
No matter how hard
He tries.
It’s hard to describe
Why he’s so scary,
Something about the
Way he never smiles or
The dead certainty
Of his words,
All jagged lines,
Merciless,
As if nobody ever said
A kind word to him
When it would have
Made a difference.
He doesn’t ask questions
Because he’s afraid
Of the answers he
Might hear.
This leaves only one option:
Talk all the time,
Fill up the space
With shallow blather.
At least this way,
He assures himself,
They won’t
Be on to him.
A superficial being
Desperately trying
To avoid
Looking at itself.
