| Commentary and Philosophy Poetry
posted February 23, 2022 |
Contest entry
I held
past memories and future plans
relationships, expectations
the business you said was ok to have been smashed, looted
set ablaze, destroyed
left empty of all but a pile of twisted shelving and broken glass.
I represent
opportunity lost
once given the breath of life
dreams turned to nightmares
lay strangled, suffocated beneath coercive nihilism.
I was
the livelihood of the shopkeepers
current and past and their employees
suppliers
investors
the promise of local prosperity
my taxes improved the community
I was an asset
I was a contributor
I was an integral link on the chain anchoring my neighborhood.
I sheltered
the Center For Hospice patients and families
where medical and spiritual needs were fulfilled
information was dispensed
my walls offered a moments respite
from caregiving tinged with grief.
The Pantry Food Market
where the morning newspaper awaited
where the elderly came to shop
where the owners knew their names
their likes and dislikes
worried if they didn’t show up
where tabs still existed
where children ogled the candy
tried to sneak a peek at forbidden magazines
where gossip was exchanged
where jobs were posted
Where the high school musical’s poster
shared the window with the neon sign flashing, “OPEN.”
the Postal Express,
where bills were paid
money orders sold
plans copied
porch pirates foiled
postcards perused
manuscripts dispatched in manilla envelopes filled with prayers
and Mama’s cookies shipped, filled with love.
LV’s Barber shop
a communal man-cave
where cutting remarks were met with laughter
where first haircuts were celebrated and high-fives flourished
where brotherhood abided
and generations gathered.
Streterville Florist promised beauty for
weddings
banquets
prom corsages
backstage, "Break a leg!" offerings
loving gestures
whimsical self-indulgence
altars
condolences
forgiveness
The Town Talk Diner
a place of celebrations
shared history
where deals were made
where students studied
where creativity flourished
relationships formed
debates transpired
where laughter and tears
could be found in abundance.
I fed
the neighborhood’s soul
until you spewed up your hatred
and if there is ever a reopening
those that can will be forever scarred
permanently marked when you
etched your indifference into my stone
with the acid and bile from your empty souls.
I cradled
someone’s brainchild.
(Is the loss of any child acceptable because you can simply have another?)
I provided
the canvas to paint a life’s masterpiece
until you slashed the creation with knives of hatred,
graffitied it with your life-affirming slogans of tolerance
then, in your intolerance, burned it and danced around the bonfire
leaving the canvas unrecognizable, unusable
just paint another you say?
I sit
skeletal, empty
“What’s the harm? They have insurance!”
but those I housed mortgaged their future
spent every penny on inventory
scraped together enough for liability coverage
tried to ride out the pandemic
without income
most haven’t the reserves to pay the deductible.
I remain
as shattered and shuttered as the owners, crying amidst the ruins,
stripped of dignity and gang raped.
my violation videoed, shared by those who shouted encouragement
made no move to stop it
from their gated mansions surrounded by armed bodyguards
the neighborhood's torment is dismissed by Hollywood millionaires tweeting,
“Get. Over. It.”
And voila, rape is suddenly acceptable, should not be considered traumatic
it’s not really violence at all.
Just clean her up
tell her to put a bit of powder on her nose
here’s some money to get a pretty new dress, honey
pretty soon you won’t have a mark on you
you’ll forget it ever happened at all
give us a smile now, and get on with your life
further despoiled by the cultural elite
who have yet to miss a paycheck
the editorial writers, the pundits, speaking from split screens
safe in their socially-acceptable distancing, insulated, isolated
assured of continued employment
referring to this as
“a tolerable tantrum”
“an equitable expression of rage”
“Just an idea.”
I am dismissed
by politicians ordering the constabulary to stay their hands,
afraid the rioters would scream,
“I have a right to protest”
the media ignored the story as much as it could
reporters referred to the nightly mayhem as,
“Mostly peaceful”
even when backlit by a wall of flames
or shrugging
declaring
“It’s just a building!”
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Free Form Poetry Contest contest entry
The business names are actual businesses that were looted, destroyed, and set on fire in 2020-2021 during the George Floyd riots.
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rosehill (Wendy)
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rosehill (Wendy)
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