Poem for 2125


There will be a history of 2025 to read,
for sure.

And we cannot speak from the afterlife.
You and I won’t testify
 about the summer of 2025.

America First is at its zenith,
high on the fumes of victory made real.
A randomness of injury 
to our collective sense—
“Just doing my duty.
Come with me.”
Some descendant
s will one day scour the digital remains,
searching for footage
For proof:

My grandfather—he was doing his duty.”
“
My grandmother, too

“My neighbor, the same.”

They all shouted,
“Doing my duty!”

But none dared cry,
“We Are Doing Our Duty?”- None questioned it.
And the puppet master—
now vanished—
won’t be there
to soothe your guilt
once the orgy
of exaltation ends.
Mask off.
 Slip back into the crowd.

Have a taco.
But ask yourself—
can your stomach afford the price?