Now we play the longer game
with different rules that shift the truth
and in the troupe a hidden cast
who have a different script to read.
As we fight to keep our rights
they slip the feathered Cuckoo
into our leather quiver.
He has an arrow missing
from his moral compass.
Their clicking tongues and squawking facts
preoccupy our minds.
The doping of excitement feeds us well
and we can’t erase the tracks
the needles leave behind.
We transition to intolerance.
Unhinged and swinging loose,
a squeaking rusty gate.
The clock has turned, our lives are changed.
We missed our chance.
There was no beacon lit to summon aid.
Waiting in the darkened wings,
is this savior with his friendly mask
that hides the Cuckoo underneath.
In our foolish desperation
we think he is a better choice.
For the moment, we are grateful and relieved.
TL 2017 ©