Naked ribs of a cargo train
drag graffiti all the way to the coast.
I watch the crawl from the highway,
try to translate the scrawl.
Coffee steams from a paper cup
clutched at the wheel.
There’s a crisis just ahead.
I steer clear of wreckage,
barriers, broken glass
on this blighted road that I hope
is a short ride to a win.
But I can’t harbor delusions anymore.
Trust, hope, function.
That all changed when
they stormed the castle,
tore down the banners.
I raged at the ruin,
remained in a constant state of panic.
That was the end of my trust
in almost anyone.
That glory morning made us all
blood enemies.