Nambia, a shock! was in the news, and now
the town of Pleasure, burned so hot that cars melted.
Families hope for messages of bones of those
who didn’t escape, an answer, end to their search.
A president not mine promises Great Climate!
advises raking forests. Behold! His followers follow,
like those who thought they’d board Hale-Bopp,
dressed for this special occasion in jeans and sneakers,
pockets filled with quarters, plastic bags over their heads.
Ho-hum to a journalist’s murder, dismemberment.
His memory dissolved in acid. Business as usual
for those who value money over integrity and human
rights. Let’s carry on and kill those turkeys, worry
about stuffing and whether it’s safe to eat the lettuce.
I can smell those foul family members arguing
from miles away. It’s the age of FFS and WTF, when
evidence provides the excuse to dig in deeper, yell,
Fake News! when you don’t like the turn of events
or intelligence communities that bring facts. Ho-hum.
We carry on like those in Poland, not Jewish, not gay.
No risk of being chosen, hauled off. What’s for dessert?
Here it’s apple pie with ice cream and whipped cream.
We’re grateful, and we write our long list of blessings.
Joan Mazza has worked as a medical microbiologist, psychotherapist, and has taught workshops nationally with a focus on understanding dreams and nightmares. She is the author of six books, including Dreaming Your Real Self (Penguin/Putnam), and her work has appeared in Rattle, The MacGuffin, Streetlight Magazine, Valparaiso Review, and The Nation. She lives in rural central Virginia.
