Zeitgeist

We grind our teeth
against brittle bites
of truth-be-told,
then blame the grit
we taste on silt
in the water we have
lifted from this river
we know can kill.

Enticed into violence
by the vise of lude news
that grips every day,
we escape that death
by flying together
to the Dominican,
where poison awaits,
then there was one.

Back home, we lie
about the good old days,
while we gun our trucks
as we pray on the way to church,
where we cover our coughs,
hoping someone smart
will cure cancer or solve the climate crisis…

since we have decided to live.

by Anne McCrady

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