The unsayable turns against the tide
how if I were blind to my own actions
each day, if I act the martyr to grief
unless I accept and therefore abide
not in sympathy, caught up in a role
sucker to succor, my own distractions
argue not to strengths but to seek relief
yellow zinnia, I lack all courage
as the unemployed drink beer on the dole
bile, irritable, angry, vexed at heart
lingers complacent, satisfied and smug
each day, I am blind to smell my own fart
turn against others, lash out, pull the rug
underneath us all, distress in storage
reside in trauma, cheetah in a cage
nocturnal raccoons free to sniff and roam
suffer the children as adults little
as the town crier whose opinions rage
grate the ears of maize in a cornfield maze
as if words could burn waves of white sea foam
if I am privileged, am I so brittle
not to withstand hate, I wander, a clue
stirs up the cauldron, the pot to amaze
traumatized infants, shaken, nothing stirs
the newscaster more, a son of the law
how daddy was hurt sounds as a gear whirs
each day, my body hurts under the claw
take a dumb, black cat, pouncer, no one knew
if elder statesmen, entitled and free
decide other's fate, to live in a shoe
each day, I pray that I'm not you, agree
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