And you crept up
so ominously quiet
Spirit of the Times
that we couldn’t even
feel your presence
but for a draft
we thought was the weather
As you stared
incredulously
at us from the corner
liquor store
or behind the stall
at the gun fair
Zeitgeist that creeps
sowing rubble
taking shreds
of worn out
Ideologies
and repurposing
them for the kids
so they’ll parade around
in obscene hand me downs
of history
on a raft full of holes
You just sat there
Espirito du tempo
and Marveled how
we couldn’t feel
our callousness
hardening
our eyelids
to prevent the scales
falling from our eyes
You did not slouch
toward Bethlehem
Esprit du temps
you merely snickered
at the self-combustion
we were feeding
but refused to feel
until self-deflagration.
Pina Piccolo, November 19, 2023