My heart sister Red at M3 read me this poem today. I considered my feelings, my thoughts and my reactions and then asked if she would let me publish as part of my on-going discussions of politics, both big and small. What she says in A Match is haunting and unsparing.

If all the world were on the head of a match,

How long before we struck it?
Abrasive to the surface inhabitants
And daily committing rape,
We are busy justifying our actions
And homed in on our profit.

We rip holes in the sky and bore out the ground
With time-stricken vanity,
A blatant disregard of future costs and
Heartlessness to our victims.
Blame falls to schedules filled with self-importance
And lacking identity.

Loud and proud we shout, “I am!” until one points
To the wake of destruction.
We fly around the world in search of “I am”
And find our inner child,
Whose whims and wants are fulfilled with adult funds,
But no adult compunction.

The sand the ostrich seeks to bury its head
Is now shards of broken glass.
The cleansing waters stand stagnant and smell foul,
Thick with noxious pollutants.
The world sits on the head of a striking match.
Ignition will be a gas.

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