Why
Why haven’t I been writing poetry . . .
do I really have nothing to say?
Nothing even though it's the time when time
is an avalanche halfway to the end of us all?
A time when
civil discourse left the building with Elvis,
illegal immigrants cage the indigenous, and
humanity is the red sweater Mr. Rogers no longer puts on.
This time of
feelings stuffed behind motherboards of iPhones
wishes struggling to breathe behind masks, and
wanting fulfilled by Amazon.
There are
blue boxes – missing places and ballots,
full-service stations – pumping gas from Standing Rock, and
no national anthems ending the day – tell lie vision never ends.
When verdant intentions toward transformative text become
money from a Brinks truck wrecked on the highway,
while melting icebergs wave goodbye to barrier islands, and
polar bears and penguins twerk to the rhythm of cracking ice,
written intentions will not stand between humanity and a watery abyss.
& I can't
find the right thing to say to our un-brave new world.
So I'll put a picture of my missing stanzas on a milk carton.
Sketch them with invisible ink of ideals and wait for time to go bye.
Would you be, could you be, my neighbor?
Copyright © Mari Banks | Year Posted 2020
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