Perhaps the worst sin of all is stuffing
your face and doing it faster than anyone else.
           Perhaps it's putting on an air of studied
indifference while floods wipe out bridge spandrels,  
stretches of highway collapse into sinkholes,
           and neighborhoods turn into food deserts. Or
perhaps the very worst of all worst sins is conveniently
looking for something or someone else to blame, 
          so as to absolve brokers and football coaches 
who start foundations but pocket most of the millions 
donated. Perhaps a wolf in wolf's clothing isn't just 
         fashion that's trending: perhaps it's really a wolf 
taking up residence in the house built in a forest of lies, 
the sickening scent of sugar dripping from every tree.

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