“The North Star”

by Paul DeMarco

When ritual bonds fracture,
handshakes endanger;
When veneer peels, reveals
the sudden care
for the jailed, the homeless,
as mere self-protection;
When our rulers rule clueless,
no skill but deception,
jockeys for advantage
regard-less, care-less,
while their murdochs*
disgrace the fourth estate;
When factions war
in the uncivil twilight
like fissured siblings
at their father’s funeral;

When our economic engine
of consumer consumption
lurches us sputtering
down the bouldered cliff,
while, all out
of touch,
mad men at the wheel
scheme to give us
the business
as usual,
Hit the gas raving “Go Go Go!”—
that’s all they know—

What will we do?
What will it take, this obscure future
that abruptly demands us?
Where should we start but to find
our own center, deeply in touch,
One by one. Together.

*Murdoch – a Scottish term for describing a man who is “a selfish old beast”

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