If you want to
Be part of our
Thing then you
Will absolutely
Submit to any
Rule we impose,
Gut anything we
Say you should,
Cut everything
We tell you to.
It’s for your
Own good,
We know best,
Our fiscal philosophy
Has shown
Time after time
How good
It is at destroying
Entire nations.
I remember when he invited
Me over to his house,
More like a mansion as
We pulled up to it in
His chauffeur-driven car.
He was one of the boys
I would watch lording over
Everyone else at school,
Tousled but neat at the
Same time, commanding.
He got out without thanking
The driver, walked past
The butler and motioned me
To his room in some far-off
Wing upstairs.
Walking around his domain,
The sheer excess,
A maid appeared and asked
If he needed anything,
“The usual,” he snorted.
It’s reported that
The whole race thing
Is really not much of
A concern, bordering on
An afterthought for many,
Easily dismissed,
Of no real consequence,
A very different view
From having epithets
Shouted at you or being
A permanent suspect,
Second-class something,
Berated, harassed,
Handcuffed, maced,
Clubbed, shot for
Being exactly as
You were born.
Startled and enraged
By the light of progress,
They scurry out from
Their hiding places to
Shriek for their right
To hate, impose their
Distorted dreams of
Inequality and fear.
Artifacts from a
Shameful past,
Idealizing the
Trespasses of their
Forebears, standing up
For malevolence,
A ghastly stain,
Total absence of
Compassion, love.
They gather in all
Corners of the world,
From small villages
To big cities,
From mountaintops to
Beaches to forests,
From living rooms to
Public spaces,
Young and old,
Light and dark,
Big and small,
Dancing,
Joyfully expressing
Their common
Humanity,
Celebrating
Harmony,
Peace,
Love.
Sing a song of hope and courage
For those who have not yet
Found their voices.
Dance a dance of elation and passion
In the name of those who
Deny themselves movement.
Dream a dream for those who
Have none yet and dare not
Speculate on such matters.
Illuminate the world with a
Glow of innocence, enthusiastic
Imagination personified.
A former carny pontificates
At great length about freedom
When what he really promotes is
Abject selfishness driven by
Perpetually flashing images of
What it was like to scrap
For a living years ago,
People stepping on him,
Taking advantage of him,
Looking down on him,
A harsh life of insecurity and
Debasement coloring his every
Waking moment and assuring him
That it’s okay to punish
Everyone else so that he
Doesn’t end up where he began.
His people once owned
Other people.
He fights hard so it
Never happens again.
His people once owned
Other people.
He fights hard to
Make it happen again.
Emily sits at the
Kitchen table unaware
That, nearby, people
Loathe her because of
Something she can’t
Do anything about.
Mom and Dad are getting
Ready for work,
Earning anemic wages at
Companies designed to keep
Them exactly where
They are in perpetuity.
It’s always been this way,
Toiling for nothing,
An honest day’s
Work unrecognized,
A treadmill they can’t
Avoid or escape.
