National Poetry Month: The Lie We Live (3 of 30)

It's National Poetry Month. I will be posting a poem each day. No theme. I'm just going to follow the spark each day, wherever I might find it. It's bound to be messy. 

Columbus Dispatch Article 4.3.23

                     The Lie We Live 

I sit with my coffee, pouring over poetry, the

warmth of both soothing the soul. The coffee-

shop, full of chatter, suddenly quiets as a man,

g*n at his side, enters. He pushes the glass

door open like the men in the wild west shows

I once watched sitting on my grandma's sofa,

when I thought I was born into a world that 

had learned the value of humanity and practiced

solving problems with words instead of w*#pons;

the naivety of childhood, a gift no longer given.

The chatter quiets to a silence as everyone

notes his arrival. Is this the day we all become A 

HEADLINE? I glance at my poetry, pretending 

this might not be the day, but noting every exit

and planning every move from trainings cemented

in my head as I cowered with children in corners

pretending this would keep us safe. He's a small

man - why do they always seem like small men? -

though his chest puffs as he enters, invincible in his

mind to the dangers of a coffee shop where he

is the only danger. How has this become my

life? How has his right to carry a g*n in public

become more important than my right 

to live without them in public spaces?

I pretend to not watch his every move as I go 

back to my poetry: the only thing that might

truly save this world. 

© Cathy L. Mere, 2023