Conflations of US

A political poem about compromise

When we are taught to hate not deescalate when compromise is mud — you call me animal and I call you pig. Humanity has forgotten the safe word we agreed upon when closing the bathroom door. I read the stink of emotional emetics, the window fogged by the shouting breath of the blue, white and red flag. I could say tulips will bud in spring; you would argue semantics back into the ground.

Forget this I/you stuff. Let’s talk capitals and letters: the alphabet of America has twisted into the overused acronyms that stand for pieces over peace. Don’t KKKill what I’m trying to tell you. Don’t spray paint white over color.

We used to bite our tongue when rules were golden, but now gold is paramount and there are no unbreakables in this China shop. Red shirts became hats, expendable for a morality play that has no compass.

I have never blocked anyone on Twitter no matter how shouty they see over-perceived insults in opinion versus fact. Don’t tell me you are right, just show me unscalable data. Don’t try to edit my voice into your dialect.

Ropes and guillotines are still waiting for necks but the heads may not be the leaders you elected. When waters are called back from shore by the moon, who do you think will be on that satellite? Who are the corporate sponsors telling the voters which person to buy?

Let’s take off the price tags before the sale is over. Put away your wallet. Don’t buy into it. Even if convinced that you can fly, please invest in parachutes and get your pilot’s license. Practice is what will get us back to the starting gun, but we need to go farther than that.

You cannot eat dirt, but you can start a garden as the climate changes if you pay attention to forecasts and frost. Let’s learn the boundary of conventions when separationists come together. Let’s hold hands when the pandemic is over. Let’s smile under the masks we choose to wear for whatever reason. And let’s digest the poisonous idea that what’s killing you is killing me too.