The Community Pool

Poem a Day for Lent, #2

The new leaders unleashed a wave of toxicity,
pouring into our red bucket—a spate disrupting
the soft, plum-nuanced mounds we had so carefully built
as storehouses and pools of belonging we had hoped for,
amid the chlorinated milieu—as agents of peace,
breathing ocean-like through our nostrils.
This is the air we breathe
that suppresses triple-conscious workflows.
Did you know there is no unity without diversity?

The people's souls flounder in the lazy rivers,
pandering before the heir to riches—
eyes glint at a possible turn with the news
of fallen princes, unredacted,
and the model and hope of very fine skies
held accountable by the silver milk of the justice moon.
Brown dolphin skin absorbs beams
all the way down to the ground,
reaching the roots and the blood shed
in the marches of tears where every voice
rippled in a chorus of protest.
The tipping bucket, and all the tiny faces,
are ready to receive the outpour
of shifting tides.