So We Pretend - Marina del Rey, CA


I have a hard time these days putting into words what I see, hear, feel and think. Some days I am busy with radio work. Some days I go on walks with our puppy. Some days I can't stop crying while I watch a stupid movie with a talking dog.

Labor day weekend, a weekend of record heat and smoke-filled skies from fires in Southern California, I sat in Los Angeles' Marina looking out on the water with a cold drink next to me. Suddenly I thought: "How can we pretend that everything's ok?"

Later at home, I wrote this poem:

So We Pretend


Under a red noon sun obscured by clouds made from fresh ash


With a serving of seven bullets in the back of a black man


Too thin to comfort corpses of those who died alone

Two men in suits

Who sell themselves as our screaming saviors


In perfect formation above red-golden muted waves

I watch

I listen

And I cry

Then, I pretend that everything's ok


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