Dystopian Nothing
Any small town.
Where the locals
see the white light
slowly diminish.
Their trump/pence
signs blowing in
the breeze…
Give you the stare
as you drive by…
Hardened, threatening
glare… gathered in
a group of calloused
faces
and torched temper…
Ready to pounce on
the outsiders…
stained America,
prepared to fight, shoot,
fire-- when the order
is given…
by a cheap walrus,
in an oversized
suit.
we bleed little
sanity when the verdict
is
given…
death and isolation will
come quickly…
menacing men
will then pat other
menacing
men on the back…
putting their rifles away
drinking a Budweiser
and giving the Hitler
salute…
proud Caucasian…
will win the stage,
carrying the bodies
to the next
holocaust
flames seen and
celebrated
all along the
countryside…
Sad Newscast
Rows of sleet barbed
their face bloody.
Looking for sympathy from
fallen angels.
Bad choice kids.
Clothes weathered into
pools of sludge…
Drained walking,
water-logged whelps…
No choice, no chance.
No hope.
There will be no prayers
from babes today…
We will sit
silent…surfeit suffering silences
the television children…
Their plight is real,
pain processed
footnoted…
Then forgotten.
Jim Conrad,
Channel 8 News.
Dan Provost’s poetry has
been published both online and in print for a number of years. He is the author of thirteen books. His latest, December 22, 2020 Playing
Croquet in Short Pants During a Snowstorm, was recently published by
Alien Buddha Press. He has been nominated for the Best of the Net and has read
his work throughout the United States.
He lives in Berlin, New Hampshire with his wife Laura, and dog Bella.
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