Saying the things that
Need to be said but are
Kept locked away as if
It diminishes their import.
They talk in a new way,
Leaving behind the secrets
And discomfort that
Choke off reality.
Possibilities unfurl,
A path hidden under the
Overgrowth, a new
Existence revealed.
Nothing left for me
To say except for
I wish it had ended sooner.
It wasn’t so much
That you were annoying as
The complete absence of decorum.
Repository of unawareness,
A dimly lit wit
Imposing itself on everyone,
Coughing fit of nonsense,
Gleefully spewed upon us.
I would bet anything
You had no clue it happened,
Habits being what they are,
On to the next offense.
I finally speak my mind,
Saying things I should
Have years ago but never
Was permitted to or had
The courage to reveal.
My effort is met with
Silence, an impenetrable
Wall of defensiveness and
Hurt that no sound breaches.
I recognize it’s
Always been this way.
They handed him his
New lock and combination.
He walked down the long
Hallways searching for
His designated spot,
A lonely number in a
Sea of bodies
Oblivious to
His circumstance.
She walks a half-hour
To the well,
Waiting her turn to
Lower a stained
Plastic bucket down
A hole to the
The brackish water
That will be in
That night’s soup.
She heads back,
Tilting to one side,
Looking down at
The garbage-strewn
Pathway, a dog
Scampering away.
Do as I say,
There are rules in this house,
Confess your trespasses,
Obey us without questioning,
Don’t stray from the norm,
Keep your thoughts to yourself.
Delicate, vulnerable beings
Ground up and extruded,
Forced into a mold greased with
Insecurity and fear.
Unmet needs, unfinished business.
Creativity, humanity desecrated.
I told her my worth,
Through my actions,
What I would
Settle for,
Such was my desperation.
She gleefully accepted,
Repeatedly indulging in
My diminished sense of
Self — the overtly needy
Kindness of someone
Not yet confident.
A lesson lost on me
Until I was ready.
They mean business and
Will not stop marching
Until their contemptible
Cravings are satisfied,
The urge for the next fix
Predictably – interminably
Beckoning in the distance.
Equality and fairness
Signify nothing,
Any hint of a thought
About helping anyone who
Has been felled by their
Machiavellian oversight
Is quickly ushered away.
The only goal here is
To gut the wounded creature
They disdain so much and
Lay its entrails at
The feet of their rulers.
I’ve got mine.
You get yours.
I’ve got mine.
You get yours.
I made it on my own.
Survival of the fittest, man.
Why don’t you just do
What I do.
Be self-made, man.
Quit whining.
Self-reliance, man.
No handouts.
Do what I do.
Call your dad already.
Too many years toiling in
Dangerous surroundings, risking
Life and limb with every passing
Eternity.
Too many years wiping the dust
From his eyes, a hacking cough a
Perpetual reminder of his career
Choice.
Too many years. His son came of
Age and was pridefully encouraged,
Expected, to carry on the family
Tradition.