Merchants of anger
See no color
Hear no melody
Offering immediacy
Gritted teeth
Clenched fists
Ease of blame
Vague contours of control
Outlines of outrage
A road of broken concrete
Leading to a tire fire
In their statements
Evidence a faraway promise
If even thought of at all
Profit and power
Wash over them
When they steal your joy
Hollowness aches inside them
Disdain burns in them
For signs of growth or hope
In any of you
I will let you name them
You don’t need me to
Perhaps you scoff at me
Turn to them and indulge
What they offer for a while
To feel something
To fill yourself with
To provide meaning
Despite its acrid foul flavor
I know though
If you pause
You will realize
You are crying
For what you have lost
It is yours to take back
Your mind is forever changing
But that mind is forever yours
Gene G. McLaughlin 2020
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