Poetry

It’s okay

Apparently it’s okay

to demand help five minutes before the world sleeps

and then stroll off under the stars

without even the thought of thanks.

 

It’s fine to dig up liquefied bones

and fashion them into inflatable rings

to bob along on the surface of the Earth’s sweat-sheened skin

only to cast them aside when the sun hides its head.

 

It’s fine to book safaris in a distant country

while the wildlife nearby is trampled underfoot,

hit by cars and choked by polluted air,

with reserves holding fundraisers in the wake of blind eyes

and deaf ears.

 

It’s fine,

until the wall of ignorance crumbles

at your feet.

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