Grey-filtered morning & no one on the street
looks happy, a few unpleasantly defiant,
the sweep of catastrophe apparent.
Look, a dove. There, see it on the powerline
that pops your toast and sends you propaganda.
Eat your breakfast while dove coos Migrants
Fentanyl Migrants. It’s what you demanded.
You’re addicted. Only cruelty relieves your itch.
Complexity scares you & baseless lies excite—
You should’ve believed Jesus about the rich.
Beatitudes don’t send you to Trump merchandise,
algorithms do. Weren’t you taught to fix
on mercy? Feed the hungry, clothe the naked,
welcome the stranger, to name a few.