……… Damocles
In perilous times we join
the clueless otherworld,
the one that lives outside
our dubious bubble.
Who do we have to thank for this?
Who’s driving this bus?
Who’s at the helm?
Who jiggles the joystick?
Who cares?
We man our posts,
we soothe ourselves, but
must come to terms that
are not light and hang
from a hair.
Once I saw a cormorant, wings spread,
drying herself in the wind after lunch
oblivious to the dilemma of our recklessness
but snared nevertheless in its reach ahead,
but time itself is oblivious,
and space
So, who?
Jim Culleny
7/10/19
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