I feel like I’m turning into a cliché. My emotions spun by articles and newsreels. Feeling like a Top 40 radio station with an 8 song rotation.
Reads news articles about someone getting shot that looks like me by police. Every detail is left to perception. Why were they there in the first place? Why didn’t they follow directions? Maybe this, what if that… Brief descriptions of who they are, and what they did for work. Pictures of the family are shown, left to humanize their lost loved one to the world. Keeping the peace, asking for the masses not to lash out while their grief is shown in bright technicolor. Inherent anger and fear rise in me for the next several weeks and then dissipates like a fever dream. Lost in the fray of names taken from this plane of existence violently. Rolling from our lips in protest into partially covered ears. Change is promised and never comes.
Reads news articles about active shooters killing and maiming indiscriminately. Every piece of his life laid before the public to show why he got to this point. Their social media, reading habits, art, and what they had for dinner the night they decided to take the lives of strangers. Family, teachers, and co-workers pouring from the woodwork to speak about “all the signs.” Surviving their arrests to be celebrated. Going into an ever-growing list of individuals feeling power and fame comes at the end of a barrel. That their temporary feelings are above others’ existence. Arguments of gun control spew from every mouth into any ear that will listen. Never to discuss the roots of the problems. Change is promised and never comes.
A piece of key legislation is taken away. Something that is needed to add protection and security. We scream, protest, and blog about a law that we don’t fully grasp or even pertain to our lives. One side says the other is evil. Fingers pointed like guns without the wink at the end. Both sides promise things will be different. More hate, more pain, more lies. Change is promised and never comes.
Change is sitting at a bus stop waiting. Looking at a broken watch, the second hand stuck, ticking away on the 59th line, but never getting to TOCK. Headphones on, listening to the same songs on repeat. The beat may speed up, and a couple of lyrics change, but it’s always the same song blaring over and over until it’s deaf and bleeding. Finally tired of waiting, Change starts walking shoeless across hot asphalt. Dragging itself to an unknown destination. Some try to help and pick it up but then are distracted and promise to come back later. Change says it’s fine and will meet us still not knowing where to go. Then we sit and wait like kids expecting a treat for a partial job completed.
I’m grabbing that fool, CIA black bag overhead. Throwing it into the back of a van driving to where it needs to be and saying “We’re here! Do your job!” Only to be standing shoeless with my watch ticking away…