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| Dead End, Hudson Yards, New York (2022) |
How can one sum up recent events in the United States of America? How does one come to terms with the chaotic destruction of systems, livelihoods, dignity, respect, and so much more? I will not do those who are responsible for tearing at the seams of our democracy the honor of naming them, but there is no ambiguity about whom I am writing.
Acts of resistance are cropping up. Protests have been organized, picket lines formed, boycotts set, with economic blackouts still to come. And yet, because of the economic imbalances in our system that are only getting worse by the day, we all find ourselves in positions where we can't help but get up and continue going to work in order to eek out a living, stuck on the proverbial treadmill.
For the years that I have been sporadically posting my thoughts to Deliberately Aimless, I have endeavored to steer clear of political matters and write content that could be thought of as "evergreen." However, I do not want to stay silent in the current moment. Each word spoken against the injustices and inhumanity of the current administration makes a difference, no matter how small the voice or how obscure the corner of the internet.
If I can't sum up the events of recent weeks, I at least wanted to try to capture what I – and, I suspect, many others – have been feeling. So I once again turn to poetry. What follows is a modified ballade of three eight-line stanzas concluded with a four-line envoy. The last line of each stanza is repeated, creating a refrain, though here's where I modified it slightly. Each line consists of 10 syllables and the rhyme scheme will become evident from the poem.
→The Treadmill
A drop of coffee spills onto the page
as you ponder how you will pay your rent.
The man, he's got you cooped up in a cage
so it's no wonder that you feel so spent.
Each new day only feeds the resentment.
Your neck, it kills, as you review the bill
and wonder why it hardly makes a dent,
spilling sweat on this godawful treadmill.
You try your best to engage with this age
but are beaten down by each new event.
Headlines only amplify the outrage.
We are crying out for a place to vent,
but this bad news, it just will not relent.
So you watch your country tumble down hill
while praying for love where hatred ferments,
spilling sweat on this godawful treadmill.
All the while you're whipped into a rage
by the foul rhetoric of those intent
on dragging us back to some "golden age"
where they benefit without our consent
and seek to prevent remaining dissent.
This isn't our home; we've lost all goodwill.
Elites pillage to the fullest extent
while we sweat on this godawful treadmill.
It happened so fast, the straight became bent;
a tyrant has come with fear to instill,
but go on we must, no time to lament –
leave the treadmill, run up that goddamn hill.
