My life has tumbled away from me,
decided by sinister phone calls,
capricious choices,
made by men
who think in votes and not in futures.
By a picture taken out of context,
and a truth that is falsely used
to build a tragic story
not unlike reality,
but looking nothing like the truth.
There is no prize for the victims,
no justice, no win,
except as a line on a shiny red button,
as well-manicured hands shake and promise their way up the steps.
As we sit, watching those
spiffy black soles waltz in and out
dancing like their fathers before,
drawing circles on the marble floors
that separate us from them and them from us,
someone should have stopped to say
this was never about our hopes and dreams of small lives outside their view.
The seats here were sold out long ago.
We’ll pay with our dignity
but we’ll never
never
get that marble
clean.
