So afraid of the churning
Rabble of miscreant panhandlers
Maliciously trying to get
Their grubby hands
On his wealth,
He went to great pains
Minimizing and demonizing,
A self-appointed,
Scepter-shaking saint,
Piously declaring
Them trash.
A mundane street
Racked with fear.
Unfulfilled dreams
Hastily banished.
Superficial conversations
About nothing important.
Minimizing risk,
Averse to change.
Laughter suppressed,
Letting life happen to them.
They stand around,
Chests puffed out like
So many parading turkeys,
Trying to best each other
With stories of dubious
Exploits and successes.
The same anecdotes bandied
About with little variation
From year to year,
Reliving past glories
That never existed
In the first place.
Gathering after gathering,
No change or growth
Infiltrates their ritual,
Just obstinate sameness.
She peruses a beloved album
Of fading photographs and
Remembers the days when she
Used to walk to school with
Her brother and sister.
There was never any question
Whether her teachers would
Be there, her desk, books,
Exhilarating days spent
Learning, laughing, growing.
She goes for a stroll,
Passing the empty shell of
What used to be her school,
Left to decay instead of
Welcoming eager children.
He lost count of
How many times
He had to
Bite his tongue,
Change his
Narrative in order
To not elicit
Prickly reactions,
Reflexive retorts from
A frightened squid
Spewing ink,
Clouding the waters
Of understanding,
Face an impassable
Wall built to keep the
Barbarians out,
Endure a superficial
Relationship built
On strict hierarchy,
Avoid being himself.
They sit down to
Play a game but it
Soon becomes clear that
This is much more than
An innocent diversion.
The contest becomes
Heated, mirth gives way
To intensity, each one
Of them trying to vanquish
The other, neither
Willing to cede an inch,
Risk losing face.
Eventually something has
To give, the adult
Jubilantly trounces the
Child and gloats a while,
What passes for fun.
Although I wish
It were different,
I have no expectation
That it will ever change –
Stubbornness being
One of those qualities
That doesn’t lend itself
To self-reflection or
Capitulation of any kind;
The need to protect a
Molten core of fear
Much stronger than any
Noble impulse.
He remembered the one instance
His father spent time with him.
An autumn day, the smell of
Nature invigorating. Quietly
Walking along, leaves alternately
Crunching and squishing.
Rivulets sparkling; a bubbling,
Gurgling, comforting symphony.
An arm around his shoulder,
Only that one time.
She wakes on a cool
Spring morning to find
The chamber’s fireplace
Already stoked.
Outside on the lawn,
Several men lie where
They fell last night
During the revelry.
Miss Averill appears
To help her with
Her toilette so she
May appear for breakfast.
Below stairs several
Servants ensure her meal
Is perfect although
Completely undeserved.
Deeply conventional,
Revering tradition and
Established practices.
Unconsciously submissive,
Loathing authority but
Following strongmen.
Acutely unimaginative,
Copying rather than
Creating anew.
Impulsively aggressive,
Quick to anger
When challenged.
Fiercely disliking
Anyone who isn’t
The same.
Profoundly hypocritical,
Living in compartments of
Contradictions and myopia.
Intensely dogmatic,
Unwilling to change,
Immune to reason.