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Befuddlement
We caught them taking turns
Splurging in an imaginary feast, where the figurines kissed
Where the billboard dog stared and winked
And robbers, dressed like priests, counted change
Which they had stolen from the beggar down the street
Of course we screamed at them in silence
And our faces were permanently creased
But the more we saw the less we could help
We held out our hands trying to get a grip
But the more we caught on, the less we held
I don’t know about the others, but I felt imprisoned
And the hissing whispers continued among the shadows
The nastiness metamorphosed and solidified into a raving rock
And I hid behind a sheet of glass and faced the stark facts
With my usual choice of weapons; wit and words
I said spare me the psychobabble, lay off the freedom speech
We are sick of all the liberation lingo
Put the slogan down. I refuse to pump the fist this week
Needless to say, they went and told the chairman
And then they came back for us
Copyright ©
Kenny Gwena
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