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Ten thousand years of choices
Made under the influence
Of someone or something.
It’s gotten us this far:
Cackling invective,
Sad pretense of wit.
A too-easy intimacy,
Casual, though false,
Now beamed through screens in our hands.


Our altar is retail; our God is the market.
We’re the barroom bards,
The yoga-mat Buddhas,
The bake-sale atheists,
The Malthusian mommies.
A million little Raskolnikovs
Counting up grocery club points.
We live outside of time:
“Someday, someday.”


But then I see Hindus
Sharing car-buying tips
With Born-Again Baptists.
And Jordanian surfers
Wearing Kabbalah T-shirts.
And the suburban dad friending
The transvestite Navajo,
And I “Like” what the world has become.


–©Bill LaBrie 2015