Good (motionless bloated baby bodies along the road to Baghdad,
violent religious uprisings, daily bombings, African children skin and bones,
nuclear warheads armed and at the ready, Fukushima toxic waste
leaking into the Pacific, a healthcare system where one accident will send you
straight to the poorhouse, the skeletal shambles of the economy,
melting polar icecaps, the terrorist news stations, various diseases
one mutation away from becoming a pandemic, politicians spouting
nothing resembling the Truth, assault rifles in the hands of maniacs,
fracking next door, flammable tap water, China rising, trans fats
and obesity, hospitals full of infected lymph nodes, a prison of toxic
food and pills, this spurious democracy, and that atrocious
possible Truth in the back of your head that keeps telling you
there just may be no light at the end of that tunnel) morning.
View original post 107 more words
When she killed herself
it was all over the papers.
Everyone knew, then
everyone forgot, talked
about something else.
There were TV reports
and neighbours’ tributes,
some actor friends
said nice things but
then it was as though
nothing had happened,
as though it was all ok,
done and dusted,
just another day.
Previously published in International Times.