Mistakes are made,
half-measures are taken
in half-hearted response,

but no one can ever name
maker, taker,
responder — 

it is as if
things just happen and
no one needs to be present

in this wonderland, this
busted clockwork world 
where no one acts;

things slumping
to a conclusion; a slowing
ticking as it shuts down,

anthem for all of us
watching, shrugging; 
our eyes moist, confused;

looking at each other,
suspecting each other,
more than halfway certain

of each other’s guilt
in the matter of the mistakes
that were made.