These are silos

where uniformed marionettes

drink beer and eat too much

in airports, hotel bars and other vacuums

at all times of day and night

and do not talk to each other.

I wouldn’t want for them

to make the world go ’round

by any means,

no matter how brilliant the mind

while united diversity and youthful lavishness

are all leashed up and muted.

The only time they talk

is when the phone rings,

disrupting mails or candy crush.

How much are they willing

to sacrifice of their time and freedom

for a bank account that’s filled? I wonder.

…But only for a minute,

because the wonder I know so well

leads to a wanderlust to just get up to leave

once and for all in the direction

I choose or the winds just blow.

Not even a gender revolution can keep me here

where loneliness and competition become accomplices.

…To me, on the outside of this bubble, anyway.

I may be prejudiced and quick

to judge what I’ve been denied,

but I am so very sure of this:

And so this river flows

guided by grace and Good News

toward banks untouched and savage

and a sunset fleetingly bright.

And when darkness falls

– as it always does –

I’m mine and His and yours,

amidst these endless summer fields

and poppy all around.