“Apathy”

 

 

c. 2026 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(2-26)

 

 

Taking stock of this ‘n that

A loudmouth lump in a red, ball cap

Words fly like motocross

From duck lips dripping with BBQ sauce

Something told me this day would come

Drowning deep, in a sea gone numb

I heard it in a radio skit

Purported to be an amusing bit

Upstairs, downstairs, gone astray

A mood of unrest getting in the way

Marching minions, cloned and clean

Ghostly goblins from an AI dream

Ring toss master, a king of chance

Suspenders holding up his pants

Pointing out the easy mark

Standing in lines at the amusement park

Apparently, I could not hear

My laughter held in silent arrears

Nothing caused my face to grin

Tossed like trash in a flaming bin

Author! Author! Was the cry

An eternal quest to reason why

But when the sunset came around

There was nothing to see but the tent come down

Circus jacks and joiners aplenty

Leaping between tall poles for money

Their skills were honed in a school of knocks

A rhythmic ride upon the rocks

If I had the courage now

To say more than the law allows

I would trade this mud and drool

For a confection, both sweet and cool

But my place is on the fringe

With a voice much like a rusty hinge

Unheard and wholly unbelieved

Not the sort of gift to be gladly received

A castoff stone, bouncing free

A baton across my shins and knees

Running for the cover of care

Pretending to be unaware

Ignorance is the bliss of defeat

Standing in the midst of bare concrete

Hard and dry, a spot surrendered

With a cause, rightly remembered

Protest kids, their whistles blow

Teasing up the virgin snow

Cameras point at a witness in rags

Living with cardboard, and shopping bags

While the shadow of a temple’s stand

Rises to greet a horizon, grand

Shell games arouse a charge of tricks

While the poor must fight with rocks and sticks

A sad illusion turned on itself

A lonely walk past a library bookshelf

Someday they’ll write of this escapade

And all that prospered, in their parade

Of justice carried by the courts

Like a victor’s spoils, won in sports

If I still have the breath to speak

I’ll nod my head and tap my feet

A gray-haired traveler in a hospital bed

Not quite quick, and not quite dead

Yes, the tale they tell is true

I saw it all while on a cruise

From shore to shore, a continental leap

With the nation gone too fast, asleep

The clang of keys from a duty belt

A jailhouse jolt, directly felt

The door slides shut, and good is served

Apathy got what it deserved