Tilt

Sometimes the world feels tilted,
like we might fall off the edge
of roundness,
like the earth is a motorcycle
on a dirt road
driven by a dare-devil
with an addiction to
danger,
like the voices of conspiracy
get louder and more disjointed,
like they are so many whack-a-moles
popping up faster and faster
and unwilling to stop
and unwilling to
listen,
like politicians speaking only
the language of logical
fallacies,
like they are blinded to
the science,
like they had their hearts and minds
and consciences
ripped out by an evil villain
and replaced with adding machines,
like capitalism wasn’t eventually
going to find its Mr. Hyde
like every other ism has,
like somehow we could
keep all this going
without tilting,
without listing
to one side
like a ship
that has already
grazed the iceberg
but hasn’t yet
sunk.  

© 2020 Deb Moore, All Rights Reserved

 

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