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.