Resisting the urge
(for the seventh or eighth time in two days)
to hoist the parking lot flag
back up to full mast
in some alter-ego
Fuck Donald Trump
ninja subterfuge,
I remind myself to
breathe in the gorgeous
late summer afternoon
there in the shadow of Ikea
— monument of consumerism —
gorgeous,
except for the Spotted Lanternfly
that crosses my path
begging me to squash its
red polka-dotted guts out;
more death on these days
of infinite death
I cannot bear;
it might be feast for the songbird
trapped in the cafeteria
throwing itself
again and again and again
against
the ceiling-high windows,
their pretense of sky;
it does not stop seeking
what it remembers, the poor thing,
but is that Futility or Hope
I wonder
as I read signs about
food waste and recycling,
the 3,920 solar panels on the roof
above my head,
feast on Swedish meatballs
covered in slick red jam.
*Flags ordered half mast to “honor” the death of white supremacist celebrity. Poem ©2025, Jen Payne. If you like this poem, you’ll love my new book SLEEPING WITH GHOSTS, on sale now!
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2 replies on “Culture Shock with a Side of Swedish Meatballs, 9/12/25*”
Every day is surreal. Thank you for your confirmation. So much wrong. Can look away, can’t do anything about it, can’t stop living day to day but What the Hell is Happening Every Day? Deep breath, walk around outside, live simply, continue to believe that fascism will again be defeated and that history will judge harshly.
We have to have hope, right? I sometimes go outside and look up at the sky and the trees and remind myself: if nothing else, at least this will still be here. Surreal is such a good work for it all!!