The Bold and the Ugly

Pounding fists are not gavels,
and society unravels
when we concede to chaos and noise.
Some people won’t change no matter their travels–
they can traverse the globe yet insist the world is flat,
see a dog and call it a cat,
say “the sky is green,” and do we say, “No, I’m sorry, it’s blue”?
Do we say, “I think maybe your views are askew”?
No–we give them platforms and mics and attention with board meetings, podcasts, posts and conventions. It seems that every American town hall
has Toms, Dicks and Harrys with no heart, but all gall.
We worship idols who
ruffle feathers rather than lead, who’ll say anything to get the sound-bytes that they need.
Call out these blowhards, these mice among men.
I have told you once, and I’ll tell you again:
a secret that every one of us knows
is the emperor isn’t wearing any clothes.
Just a cool breeze of change would bring him to a knee,
and our awareness of his bareness
unchanged by decree.
He’s long in the tooth but short on change,
and ours is a future for us to arrange.
So speak clearly with poise
against mob-forming boys,
but don’t think women won’t form them, too.
We’ve been taught there’s not enough room at the table, so we
elbow and gossip our way to a chair,
pulling no punches but pulling out hair.
But if we’re the ones expected to set the table and serve the cheese, then we should sit wherever we damn well please.
We’ve been conditioned to think there’s no stopping the trolls who’ve pushed us back into corners and hallways in droves.
But what we’ve forgotten is more than they’ll learn–
that the truth doesn’t need to be yelled to be heard.
A new year sweeps in whether or not you’ve spun your noisemakers or banged spoons on pots.
When the record plays over and over, you start to hear scratches.
“What was that you said? You’ve come off your latches.”
Ask questions, engage and hold feet to the fire.
This world needs your voice– the situation is dire.
This space is yours, too,
so go, grab the mic. The floor is yours now.
Here’s looking at you.