Apparently, all I was worth was
One phone call in the last
I don’t know how many years.
You told me how important I was.
Words come and go, floating by in
Teeming or sparse configurations.
Alluding, promising, seducing,
Unconvincing me.
Faded, creased picture in my mind.
I try to recall what you look like;
A mocking expression, a snide smile,
My worth rushes into focus.
Spewing from his mouth,
A most foul string
Of words, assembled and
Projected with vitriol
At the object of his hatred.
Exposed as a frothing bigot,
He goes into standard
Damage control mode,
Insisting he’s not like that,
That he respects all people.
Things progress as expected,
He minimizes his misconduct
And begins whining about how
He and his family have become
Targets of negativity.
You can’t possibly hear me when
You’re talking, every rebuttal a
Blow to cordiality, each defensive
Twitch eroding trust, weakening
Compassion. I realize you know
Everything and those who bear this
Gift have a crucial responsibility to
Ceaselessly share their thoughts,
Bury all others in the avalanche.
We all sit at
The dinner table,
Silently eating
What mother has made,
Talking only
When father decides
It’s appropriate,
And then only about
The approved topics.
Hierarchical,
Authoritarian
Narrative.
Bowing to the master,
Waiting for the
Next instructions to
Allay our discomfort.
They always
Know better.
Work eagerly so we can
Pay you less.
Work efficiently so we can
Cut other jobs.
Work reliably so we can
Ask you for more.
Work energetically so we can
Make more money.
Work dejectedly so we can
Erase benefits.
Work loyally so we can
Leave you hanging.
Work unorganized so we can
Do what we want.
How easy it is
To sit in overstuffed chairs,
Impugning the character
Of people who have no power,
Live on the fringes of society,
Toil in menial jobs while
Making life easier for
Their assailants.
Subsisting in the shadows,
Unseen by most,
Routinely disparaged but
Whose fruits are consumed
Without reservation.
No effort required
To kick the defenseless.
Little by little, one by one,
He lost most of his friends, family,
Acquaintances, associates, and
Countless others who called him
Friend, son, brother, colleague,
Companion, kindred spirit.
The rain fell in a grey monotone.
He stared out the window at the
Heavy pines. Opening the sash,
He took in the fresh, wild, charged
Atmosphere that filled his lungs
And mingled with his joy.
He sits rotting
In a cement cell,
It was predestined,
Really could not
Have turned out
Any other way
Given the brutality
He faced as a child,
Abject impoverishment,
Empty stomach,
Mind developing
Without the benefit of
Dignified schooling,
Moldy leaking ceilings,
Insurmountable odds
For anyone but the pompous
Blowhards who pontificate
About how anyone can
Pull himself
Out of misery without
Any help at all,
With an entire system
Rooting for his failure.
Sure, the occasional
Anomaly escapes the dungeon,
The one in one-hundred thousand,
Held up as an example
Of real opportunity,
But only an exception to the
Rigged rule,
The countless others ignored.
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.
He scurries around
His disordered lair,
Planning his next
Move, the one that
Will undoubtedly put
Him in the position of
Most supremacy over
The largest number of
People. Finally,
Complete dominion.
On the outside, people
Say what they always
Have said about him.