cut-outs for lighted windows.
Inside, stories are shared, embellished
to suit the mood.
Mrs. Rio’s son flew into combat.
See her so brave, civilly smiling,
wishing well to each partier who greets her.
But don’t we all have our masked anxieties,
sorrows, shames? Civilly shaking hands,
breathing deeply to hold from shaking
inappropriately. Please, more liquid dullness,
more chemical restraint.
More strident complaint of political —
yes Our World’s gone to hell!
How dare THEY tell us how to behave!
I’ve a mind to blast them all into atoms,
to take a stand against whomever crosses
my path without due regard.
When did everything get so hard,
so unyielding, so thick?
I know there was a once we made more sense,
gave more embracing warmth.
There are stories.
What are yours?
Make Peace The Issue