Pointing Fingers (a poem)

When did we drift so far apart?
The space between us is a chasm
Opened wide, out flow Pandora’s demons
A cracked tundra under a blackened sky
Let’s just agree to disagree, okay?

You can have the demagogues
And I’ll take my books, go to a quiet library
A type of library where the only books banned
Are the ones filled with hatred
Anne Frank would’ve been my friend
I’d like to think I’d have had the courage
To hide her in my attic

But am I fooling myself? Are my nerves made of steel?
When I look into the steeled-blue eyes of Aryans
Do I not flinch and wish I could hide?

The only torture I’ve faced is self-imposed
And I imagine if a skinhead proposed to skin me alive
I may spill secrets of my brothers and sisters at-arms

I believe Black Lives Matter and more than that,
I see misery imposed by a rapacious system
That anonymously seeks only constant growth
Consuming, consuming, consuming
Until the only thing that remains
Is a bloated belly

But when I point my finger
Other people point theirs back at me
I am as much a part of this corporate sin
As I’d like to believe

That mirror in my bathroom
Where I see my face every morning
Shows part of our problems

(Photo by Dan Burton on Unsplash)

4 thoughts on “Pointing Fingers (a poem)

  1. But when I point my finger
    It surely points back at me

    did you get taught that when you point at somebody with one finger, the rest of your fingers are pointing back at you…?


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