By Judith Trustone Visiting room gendarmes
snatch wigs from grandmothers' heads, peek into infants' diapers searching for contraband while the rest of us watch, simmering with silent rage at our shared humiliation.
0 Comments
By Judith Trustone Sent away as a child,
nurtured on rape and violence, shaped by daily psychological torture by guards raised on hatred and racism, abandoned as hopeless, the child learns well how to fight to the death, a summa cum laude graduate from the College for Criminals. By Judith Trustone From the narrow slit they call a window,
he watches geese waddling in committed pairs, pigeons soaring over gun turrets and high walls, flowers blooming against those walls in a blaze of vibrant color in this place of Death, while he waits and waits and waits on Death Row. By Judith Trustone Public outrage at TSA inspectors,
patting down grandmothers, children and especially anyone with dark skin or wearing a turban, all in the name of Homeland Security. Did they get their training by the Department of Corrections? By Judith Trustone Clanging steel of clanging steel doors,
whistling sirens, shouts of fury, despair and madness fill prison air, a cacophony of auditory torture. By Judith Trustone Imagine it for forty years,
every time you had da visit or went from one place to another behind the walls you had to strip, bend 'em and spread 'em for a guard searching your ass for contraband. Are there special trainings or compensation for asshole inspectors or have they just drawn short straws? What do the inspectors feel at the end of the day in their service to the Prison Industrial Complex? What young person says, "When I grow up I want to be a prison guard?" A paycheck for those unable to join police forces or the army? A retirement plan for the rejects who thrive financially in rural America? By Judith Trustone The Man decided he was ready.
He'd waited such a long time for this historical moment. Spitting hatred, flecks of frothing rage from lips filled with searing, murderous words that penetrate with bullets vulnerable souls seeking only peace and a chance to pray to their beloved god. He wanted to kill him some Jews. Some say Hitler never died. He just shave his mustache and got an orange wig. By Judith Trustone I weep at the evidence as three inspiring souls,
Beto O'Rourke, Andrew Gillum and Stacy Abrams, three of many seeking to rein in the orange rage, harness the unbridled hatred, stop the pounding into violence-threatened hearts seeking kindness, moving us forward, far away from our inner child, our fears deep within us, hearts trembling and sad. The orange man promises to soothe our fears while sneering at our souls' craving comfort. Half of us hate him. Half of us love him, early tossing aside the Golden Rule while salivating Pavlovian style for dreams by Machiavellian manipulators seeking only power, money and freedom from a moral core to do whatever we want without guilt or even a smidgen of regret to harm like Hitler whomever we wish, to poison our planet, our air and our water not only with impunity but with glee The orange man and his sycophant's promise to soothe our credit card debts, giving us a glimpse of a golden ring always just beyond reach in a land of promises and lies. And on we vote for robotized, hypnotized, sanitized, corrupt, uneducated and mean-spirited politicians, proud of their cruelty, twinkling at the possibility of torture, tossing toddlers into baby jails while blind, deaf and ignorant, we listen to the lies of the orange man, his corruption and evil knowing no bounds while we doze in football-obsessed passivity. |
ArchivesCategories |