It starts imperceptibly –
Gains momentum –
Grows stronger –
Craves ever more power –
Eradicates the arts and intellectuals –
Mocks knowledge and reason –
Clouds the truth –
Creates chaos and disarray –
Imposes order by force –
Subjugates its own people –
Destroys its enemies –
Subverts democracy –
Stops at nothing.
She’s been unemployed
For two years
Since being laid off
From her long-time job.
On the news,
They keep crowing
About how much better
Things are.
She walks in the door
Of a temp agency
Where she’s greeted
Politely.
A young woman
Asks her to have a seat
At a long table and
Fill out an application.
When she’s done,
She’s told to wait for an
Additional screening
By another staff member.
She goes into a small
Room to take a variety
Of tests to determine
What she can do.
She’s told to call
Early each morning
To check for any jobs
That may be available.
He grew up on the
Side of town where
Crumbling dwellings
Were interspersed with
Warehouses and junkyards.
Walking in neighborhoods
Where orderly houses and
Manicured lawns gleamed,
He felt watched;
An object of suspicion.
Someone once alerted the
Police chief to his presence,
That he was surely up to no good.
He spent two days in jail,
Released without explanation.
Don’t worry
About a thing.
We’ve got it
Under control.
No need to
Think about anything.
Sit down,
Relax.
Enjoy some numbing
Alcohol and amusements.
Everything’s
Fine.
If that doesn’t work,
We’ll impose martial law.
He spots the well-dressed
Business man walking toward
Him and eagerly asks him
Whether he wants a shoe shine.
Kneeling in front of
The man, he goes about his
Magic, buffing and polishing
With a friendly smile.
The ritual ends with a
Diffident request for payment.
The man reaches in his pocket
And tosses him a pittance.
The day passes,
One customer at a time,
Staring at the shoes
Of the powerful.
Somber hall,
Air of sanctity,
Robed men enter slowly.
At the helm,
The one with the
Biggest hat.
Instructive incantations,
Solemn reminders of
Established order.
Not officiating,
Nor allowed to,
Women.
Waiting at the bus stop,
Breath visible under
Orange street light.
Step on, find a seat,
Watch the city pass by,
Imagining what goes on
Behind each window,
An occasional figure
Headed somewhere.
Punch in, work until
Wrists, arms, shoulders,
Back, legs protest.
Ride home, paycheck
Nestled in pocket,
Familiar deliberation,
Which bill to pay.
Every single answer on
A lovely tidy platter placed
Over a yawning chasm
Drawing every bit of matter
Toward its voracious mouth
Lined with sharp teeth and
Rampant uncertainties.
The stuff of life covered by
A gleaming lid promising
Complete absolution from
Experience, courage, joy.
An arrangement where we
Have no choice but
To conform to survive,
Think of ourselves
In terms of a group,
Embrace tribalism,
Accept dysfunction
As normal,
Our view of ourselves
Filtered through the
Unmet needs of others,
Expected to
Perpetuate the debacle
Or be cast out.
