When We Bear Witness

In the face of tragedy or some other scandal,
we are drawn, like crows, to collect the shiny,
 
even if it’s just a flea market key chain lie
plucked by a politician from the dream bin and repackaged
as new policy, as the antidote to the never again cycle. 

We see that dangling silver key and pounce
like a lion to claim it, growling at any hand
that dares pry this illusion from our claws, 

for we have nothing else to hold on to.

From The Sunday Muse

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Written for Poets and Storytellers United, dVerse, Twiglets, Go Dog Go Cafe, and The Sunday Muse