Wednesday, April 19, 2017

Swimming in Sand

“Get up! Get up! Get up!”
They shout. As if their pleas
will somehow roust us from
our comfortably narrow

“To Arms! To Arms! To Arms!”
They rally. As if their demands
will be met with anything other
than our complete resistance to
being told what to do.  

“Rise! Rise! Rise!”
They cajole. As if their nudging
will make us do anything other
than be bothered, and circle tightly
around our warm and cozy apathy.

“Make way! Make way! Make way!”
They push. As if their shoving will
make us move from the spot of
Earth we’ve tethered ourselves,
our place of obstinacy.

“C’mon guys! C’mon gals! C’mon!”
They beg.  As if our hearts will be
swayed by their personal prayers
for action, for our indignation and

“We’ll get to it! We’ll get to it! We’ll get to it!”
We scream back. As if they’ll listen to us
after all our protestations, denials, and
general ennui and snooze button

“Okay, maybe later! Maybe later!”
They shrug. As if our swimming
in sand will somehow make us
better fish.

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