slip (a poem)

Tuesday, March 11, 2025

War. War. War.
War again.
All the wars.

Guess what?
You get a war too.
Everyone does.

Spin the wheel,
pick a side,
watch the bodies pile.

The world is woven into drama—
framed, manufactured.
Five wars before I even ask
about the crisis overseas.

And then you add the entertainment.

My brain is tracking forty-two stories,
twenty-one different celebrities,
while keeping up with the latest debates—
drowning in the feed,
scrolling through the wreckage.

Highest bidder.
Disrupt.
Bought and paid for.

Politics, like buttons.
Launch the cycle.
Remote control.

Spent the moments of pain
fighting the love,
lashing out at the dearest to me.

What a mess.

Can’t get beyond it—
Mirror, mirror, what are you doing?
It’s not the thing you gamble.
It’s the one thing we all wanted—
family, and time to enjoy it.