tyranny

The tyranny of a single man
spills onto a nation
as though his conscience
has been seared,
left under the iron
a moment or so too long.

Behind the man,
a child soldier
marches in line,
holding an AK47,
and lets out a breath
that is too heavy
for a ten-year-old.
The wind carries it –
transatlantic –
and I breathe in,
choking for a moment
on indignation,
in sudden fury
at the injustice
in the air.

I recover my breath,
continue my shopping,
and call a friend,
triviality falling
from my lips
like acid rain.

I perpetuate the evil.