The Peddler

this is how we discuss

the war and the dying and the

children crossing borders in a desert

quietly, in a warm room, hushed voices

we sit here, holding our lattes, sipping

flinching as our tongues are singed with

chocolate and milk, cursing our misfortunes,

and feeling our soft bellies tighten with the pain.

how do we solve the problems of this world?

we decide that we are qualified for such things

we know how to satiate the screams, evidently.

dressed in corduroy and cotton, cashmere and denim

leather shoes, diamond rings, hair that is long and conditioned with

oils of the dying animals (cows and beasts, monsters and similar such creatures.)

then we tell them to believe, they do, and we cite our own God’s victory,

when it was us selling our souls.

(have we been bought?)

The peddler sells trinkets, saved souls and peace, on a golden chain, with charms.

Cows and beasts, monsters and similar such creatures.

(what was the price? did we ask?)

But he won’t stop the screams (is he responsible for the crime?) and he won’t sell us much but the leather shoes and diamond rings.