Bat For Lashes – Prescilla
I thought he was cute until he opened his mouth. Spurting out slick opinions on the merits of capitalism, the ridiculousness of socialism. He makes me feel stupid even as I point out the fallacies in his argument, his wide generalizations and stunted vision. Maybe I am an idealist, after all. Maybe I believe a world can exist that doesn’t focus its priorities on profit over people. Maybe I don’t believe in a hierarchy of worth that applies to human bodies.
I sit in the staff room on my lunch break surrounded by older white women. Dick Cheney comes on the T.V. attempting to undermine the presidency. I feel anger rising in my throat with every lie the dick throws out nonchalantly at his audience. Guantanamo Bay. I can’t pretend to know it all, the details, but I know enough to be enraged. Around me, the women do what we all do best and look away. They pick up their conversation about dog-training and supermarkets, again.
Why can’t we find the courage to look our horrors in the eye and acknowledge what we’ve done? What we have allowed to occur? Why is it so damn difficult to change? How can we live these perfectly average lives and willingly blind ourselves to the suffering surrounding us?
I don’t have the answers, so I just write:
They say we must take the good
with the bad
as if the good comes prepackaged
that way, the joy,
stitched & stuffed & branded
by pregnant teenagers in another world
who give birth under their
accidentally wiping the bad on
the edges of our commercialized
unable on eighty-five cents an hour
to afford it themselves.