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.
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.
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.
People who don’t
Believe in
Helping people,
Put in charge of programs
That are supposed
To help people.
So utterly soaked in
His belief system,
He is unable to see
Anything other than what
He’s been told to,
An adherent doing
What’s asked of him,
Not really liking it
But unable to change course,
Complete obedience the
Only approved choice,
Openness and curiosity
Not even on the menu,
He can barely even remember
What it was like to
Be himself, and change
No longer calls.
He remembers when his
Father would take him
Downtown to see all the
Amazing buildings,
Visit their favorite museums,
Revel in the energy and
Bustle of the city,
Occasionally passing some
Tattered person huddled
Under boxes and newspapers,
His father impassively
Remarking that those people
Were somehow inferior.
Sometime in the early 2000s
Corporations get the memo
That they can do whatever
They want: reduce the size of
Products and charge more for them,
Make everything cheaper so
It will break sooner,
Provide less and worse service,
Consolidate into monopolies,
Price exorbitantly,
Cater only to shareholders,
And nobody will do anything
About it, a methodical bleeding of
A shrinking middle class and
Growing swathes of
Human beings in poverty,
A new accepted cruelty.
