In my daily news, in my inbox,
a headline: “Smoky Haze? Blame
the West Coast Wildfires,” so I do.
I stop coughing at once and can see
so much better than before I read it.
The small screen in my pocket
is a blame machine. It points at things
and shakes its finger and I go where it points;
down South where I can sneer at the rubes,
or to the Capitol to wave a treason flag.
The darkness out there is real.
Who am I to dispute darkness?
I’m an average bewildered American,
picking and choosing targets
in the land where blame is the lubricant
that keeps things moving. In the darkness
it’s easy to slip. We need light to see a path;
whether it’s right or wrong hardly matters
as long as we know where to go and who to blame
for a rough road. Any light will do:
screen light; flashlight; torch light; conflagration.