A closed door,
Only one key
Opens it but
Not the one she
Has, nor will
Ever have.
They have seen
To it that she
Only has access to
Certain corridors.
Lofty words about
Compassion and love
Give way to more
Mundane needs for
Company and belonging,
Deeper desires for
Control and power.
They gather together
And talk about
Being good people,
Doing good deeds,
But there’s always
That bit about
Being the chosen ones
Or excluding others
For not being
Like them.
Inequality promoted
In congregation.
A wealthy gentleman
Peevishly questions the cost of
Funding public education,
Or helping the poor,
Not satisfied that
These are things that should
Lighten his pockets (As he
Has to make sure his
Heirs will have extravagant
Money and power for
The next several-hundred years).
Another affluent individual
Looks at the figures
And understands that,
In a civilized society,
It costs money to educate
Children and care for
The elderly, a non-issue
For anyone who cares,
He knows his own well-being
Depends on others being able
To succeed as well.
Another explosion
Rocks the building.
He huddles against
His mother’s side,
Feeling her rapid breaths
As she clutches him
Tightly to her.
Perpetual war has
Altered their expressions,
Etching permanent lines
Of fear and resignation
On formerly bright faces,
Innocence besmirched by
Diseased politicians.
She remembers her mother’s
Words, warning of unsound
Men unable to settle
Their differences
Resorting to fighting,
The eternal folly of
Insecure minds.
At a lunch gathering
With some close friends,
She strenuously insists
That she’s not a feminist,
Then talks passionately
About how women should
Be paid the same as men
And how there shouldn’t be
A glass ceiling or any type of
Discrimination against
Anyone based on gender.
Everyone should have
The same rights, she says
To herself, remembering the
Occasions when leering,
Incompetent people
Made her life difficult
Just because it was
Socially acceptable.
She wants to make sure that
Her daughters have an easier
Time than she did.
They had very few
Conversations of any import,
Mostly directive affairs
Where the father talked
At the son, but he remembers
That one time his father told
Him he really liked his
Perspective on self-sufficiency.
Until the day he died,
His father never realized he
Didn’t mean leaving people to
Fend for themselves against
Ruthless corporations and
An inhumane ruling class.
He could never explain,
Some doors just aren’t open.
They’ve been called
Various things throughout
The eons, but their goals
Are always simple and
Surprisingly transparent.
Hoard everything they can,
Behave with extreme selfishness,
Resist change at every turn,
Denigrate the poor,
Exalt the rich.
Sulking cry babies,
Clutching greasy bottles,
Throwing unseemly tantrums
When they don’t
Get their way.
Unable to stop themselves,
They obliterate anyone and
Anything in their way.
Cold, callous, unfeeling;
Always the same story.
Young woman wakes up,
Looks out the window,
Magnificent tangle of
Buildings reaches for the sky.
Fixes something to eat,
Gets ready and walks outside,
World of promise and
Possibility.
Smiles contentedly
This exuberant day,
She can do whatever she wants,
Her true self shining.
Unhampered by back room
Handshakes, byzantine schemes
Hatched by broken
Hoarding malcontents.
Marching
Together.
Sharing a
Hopeful vision
Of a time when
People will love
One another because
They are all
Basically the same,
Rather than hating
Each other for
Insignificant reasons.
The coming together
Of all people,
For all people,
Unity over divisiveness.
