86 Readings | 0 Ratings

My Own Democracy

It has hit

home.  No not some

 

faraway land.  People are dying

outside my window. 

 

Yet I sing, to you

in here.  No not from some

 

radical point of view, just me

and my

 

yellow legal pad, and the knowledge

that we are not safe.  Easy for one to see now

 

the beneficiaries

of our

 

                              But there’s a bird outside my window,

 

popular disenchantment, and the byzantine system

which creates it, like a child

 

afraid to ask for more.  We have been shamed

into a freedom that thinks

 

deductibles are a natural part

of health insurance –                                       that thinks

 

some men deserve our silence

while others

 

our moral superiority –                                   that thinks

paid sick leave

 

is too much to ask –                                        that thinks

education

 

is a crime, and a prison system – the largest

in the history

 

of the world –                                                  that thinks

the planet, like democracy, is not ours

 

to save.  Too faraway.  Well here we are.  We have quashed

the latest

 

social

movement, in favor of

 

                              telling me to love

 

adulting.  Our individualized

economy

 

is flailing, struggling

to account

 

for everybody.  I open my window

and let

 

the socialist winds

blow over

 

                              even when we disagree, to fly,

           

the blinking lights

of our capitalist landscape,

 

its hills and valleys, its beauty –

but suddenly cold to pandering,

 

                              even when we bleed, and she’s tellin’ me

 

wizened to the truth –

its hollow veins,

 

deep cracks in the open roads

and commitments of trees

 

                              it’s mine.

 

 

Posted 04/27/20
Comments (0)
Would you like to leave a comment on this profile? Join Ink Node for a free account, or sign in if you are already a member.