poems about brokenness

He’s Got It

Even thought he’ll
Never publicly admit it,
He’s really on a crusade
To impose his point of view
On unsuspecting others.
Insightful people have told him
He’s dogmatic and inflexible,
But he just looks at it
As being steadfast
In the face of too much
Whining from too many milquetoasts
Who don’t know right from wrong.
He grew up on a frontier of sorts,
Where you knew who the good guys were
And what color hats they wore.
He’ll never concede that
His cherished belief system doesn’t
Lend itself to nuance,
Or rely on evidence or fact,
You either get it or don’t,
He knows he’s got it,
No matter what anyone says.

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Erase

Fail your own children,
But pamper theirs and
Tend to their every need.
A paragon of caring and
Virtue. A smarmy interloper
Peddling love and kindness.
Never acknowledge past
Shortcomings, bask in the
Glow of unconditional regard
From innocents too young to
Realize who you really are.
A second chance to
Pat yourself on the back.
Furtively erase responsibility,
Edit the record.

Elemental

Looking at how
He treated her,
A stark epiphany:
He never respected her.
Something so elemental,
Taken for granted,
Love, professed but
Not demonstrated.
It all becomes clearer.

Unthinkable

Perhaps they don’t understand,
Or consciously refuse to,
That it doesn’t have to
Be this way.
Pillaging, plundering,
Plunging people into destitution.
A woeful, sustained onslaught,
Taking advantage of others
For profit.

Maybe they don’t realize
That there are any number of
Reasonable alternatives.
Collaboration, caring, empathy,
Leading to success, wealth,
For everyone.
Unthinkable. A philosophy based on
Mutual support, encouragement.
Brighter, more hopeful, possible.

Fund

They tinker around the edges,
Making changes that have no
Real effect and often weaken
The underlying structure.

They claim it’s all about
Accountability, performance,
But it’s really about dismantling
Institutions that help the public.

Never mentioned at any point is
The necessity to fully fund
Meaningful programs that
Benefit the vulnerable.

The Center of Town

The hard-working
Son of a sharecropper,
He leaves the sweltering
Heat of his small shack
And walks down a
Dirt road toward the
Center of town,
Where all the
Tidy buildings beckon
And well-appointed citizens
Stroll through clean,
Tree-lined streets,
Nodding to each other,
And where he’s never
Felt quite welcome.
He remembers the stories
His parents told him
When he was a child.

Unwhole

She felt unwhole and did the unwholesome.
She felt unloved and loved no one, including herself.
She felt unsatisfied and so her life went.

A slow, tortuous, paralyzing journey to places
She didn’t want to visit, with people she could
Not have cared less about.

Flipping through the images stored on a chip
As cold and impersonal as the experiences
She pretended to enjoy.

Gotta

Things haven’t been
Going too well lately
In our little town.
Sure, we’re still proud of
Where we’ve been and
Who we are but
Times are tough,
You gotta do what
You gotta do.

Yesterday the senior center
Shut down, tomorrow the
Food pantry closes its doors,
A week ago the high school
Told kids to share books,
Music and art programs
Disappeared years ago.
Tough choices,
It’s gotta be done.

Quickly Moves On

I immediately see it
In his eyes,
Just beneath the bluster,
Pervasive fear, and
Not just a flicker but a
Fully formed flame,
Pleading for solace,
Some kind of relief from
All these years of pain and
Everything he’s done to others to
Try to silence the agony.
He doesn’t let me in, but it’s
Clear he knows I know, and
Quickly moves on to the
Next person who doesn’t.