Christopher At The Crosswalk
Christopher stands on the cross
Between Main and Essa Street,
Where night dissolves
And daylight reframes everything
In gold.
He looks up, watches
The eastern fire
Wash over the westward way.
A bright day,
No clouds to obstruct
The heavens.
Radio wires in our heads
Hum that dreadful sound,
Drumbeats circling.
The starlings hear it too—
Those of us who fell through cracks,
Who learned to move together
Because standing alone
Was fatal.
Christopher freezes on the crosswalk,
Cars stalled by his paralysis.
He only looks up.
The drivers know him—
From television,
From memes,
From the corridors of power.
He looks up,
And the sky looks back—
Starlings in formation,
Reading every crack.
We are the starlings,
Flock of the fallen,
Moving as one
Through the fractures of the world.
And he is the pick axe,
Swinging at our signal,
Trying to sever
The way we rise together.
(We rise together.)
(We rise together.)
We are the starlings,
Sky bound survivors—
He writes the oaths,
But we carry the truth.
(We carry the truth.)
(We carry the truth.)
Christopher, the Oath maker,
Writer of law,
Moral yardstick—
How far do we throw him
Before he snaps?
Tuition paid by taxes,
Unions due for a raise
By a god who never belonged
Underground,
Digging for gold
With a pick axe and drill—
Set to kill.
A new sunny day,
And we have him now—
Lecherous scandal in a suit,
Tie dripping to his shoes.
Hiding the news,
Made up with the king,
Bowing to the command of a sin,
Claiming love is love.
Forgiven by the ones
He buried.
A glorious day
For treacherous dirtbags
Who talk through their teeth,
Yellowed by stains of lies.
Nicotine dragged across their smiles.
Are you enchanted by the landmines
Left behind their gait?
You will know them
By the trail of dead—
The men who walk on shoulders
Of oath-keepers,
Enforcers,
Containment officers
Who obstruct, refrain.
And Christopher—
He pledged himself to the people,
Hand on heart,
Voice all velvet and virtue.
Said he’d carry our burdens,
Stand guard at the gate,
Hold the line for the starlings
Who survived the cracks.
He promised to keep us safe,
Hand on the rail,
Voice steady as scripture.
Said he’d guide us through the dark,
Stand between us
And the teeth of the world.
But every step he led us on
Tilted toward oblivion—
A path paved in fealty,
A road lined with mirrors,
Where loyalty to the people
Was only loyalty to himself
Wearing another man’s crown.
Pin striped suits.
Debonair hair.
Toupees and black shoes—
Brown if bold,
Gold if brazen.
Look at the feet
Of Christopher
Crossing the street,
Finally moving again.
Relief.
Sandals?
Docs.
Traffic resumes.
He moves again.
A driver shouts:
“You should be in the stockades, mate—
Wandering like you don’t owe us anything.”
Another voice at the green light:
“And we should have you drowned.”
People can be obscene—
Mob mentality strangled into a noose.
He cannot escape;
He cannot shake loose.
Slimy, two timing,
No good for the living.
Would sell the dead
To make one.
He always slides out of the grasp
Of the betrayed.
Forgiveness finds
The highest bidder.
He learned the cracks early,
Mapped every hidden door.
Wrote the laws that bind us,
Then slipped beneath the floor.
He traded truth for access,
Sold mercy for a fee.
Every sin he buried
Still whispers in the trees.
Everything had a value.
Everyone, a cost.
He kept the river steady
By drowning what was lost.
He looks up,
And the sky looks back—
Starlings in formation,
Reading every crack.
We are the starlings,
Flock of the fallen,
Moving as one
Through the fractures of the world.
And he is the pick axe,
Breaking at our rhythm,
Trying to sever
The way we rise together.
(We rise together.)
(We rise together.)
We are the starlings,
Sky bound survivors—
He writes the oaths,
But we carry the truth.
(We carry the truth.)
(We carry the truth.)
We are the starlings,
Flock of the fallen,
Moving as one
Through the fractures of the world.
And he is the pick axe,
breaking at our rhythm,
Trying to sever
The way we rise together.
(We rise together.)
(We rise together.)
He kept the river steady,
Goods for services,
Laws in books
Waiting for the gavel’s fall.
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