All the Rage

Lately we’re doing as many

as six impossible things a day

: decent rooms for the unhoused

: unemployment benefits for gig workers

: health care for the uninsured

: waiving bail, depopulating prisons

: eviction and foreclosure moratoriums

: defunding the police

…

I’ll tell you how imperfect it all is

in another poem, because now

is not Wonderland, or Neverland

, or Heaven, or Nirvana

…

or maybe now is, maybe we

always were, and we need to

open our eyes, work, believe

: imagine what we can do

tomorrow

This poem knows your silence will not protect you

It sees you

Not knowing what to next

This is not the poem we wanted

The blank page in front of us is the ear of our grandchildren

Waiting

This was always going to be

About work

This poem

Cannot finish

Itself

Some of us

did not

die

.

What we live

we would not wish

on anyone

.

sometimes

it is that

simple

: to survive

this blood-drenched crawling

wailing life is not possible

and neither is

blinking through scars

into a beaming sun without forgetting

start with simple: living

is not possible

without life

There is

no over

: grief is

a wound

, then

it’s a scar

we are compliant

: biting down hard until teeth crack

: taking all the dispensed medication

we are silent when you grope us

; we are a good fit; we never question

we are good Americans; we eat everything on our plate

. Tell me

What is it like to want

To be a monster

?