I have a friend
grew up in Tehran,
says my assessments
of things are spot on.
My other friends
from right here at home
prefer not to listen
if I observe something wrong.
The Iranian friend
remembers the Shah,
the revolution, hostages,
the Ayatollah.
My other friends lack
the same reference frame.
To them life is nothing
but a long, boring game.
They don't stop to think
about the chill in the air.
What bothers me most
is they don't really care
when all signs are pointing
as blatant as snow
to authoritarianism
beginning to grow.
They'd rather believe
democracy's shell
is impermeable
when it all goes to hell,
despite what we teach
our children in class
about its fragility
in societies past.
“We're better,” they boast.
“We'll never succumb
to anything like that.
Those lessons are from
history. We've learned
all their themes.
Don't worry. There's nothing
implying nafarious schemes
could in any way
disrupt our streak.”
That's how they respond
everytime I speak.
Iranian friend knows
otherwise. She's also in tuned
to the climate, the con,
how our elections are ruined
by unlimited money
suffucing the system.
She knows when she talks
I'm willing to listen
to her stories of warning.
I'm not so naïve
to assume we're immune,
nor for once to believe
she is lying.
I take to heart
what sages and prophets
for millenia have taught:
simple things are usually
the first ones to go.
After a while
we wouldn't even know
they're gone. Then another
freedom we once enjoyed
we're forced to surrender
to bureaucracy's void.
A third, a fourth, a fifth,
sixth, seventh, twelfth.
Eventually nothing is left
we can rely on for help.
Family and friends become moles
to protect their own hides.
We dare not reveal to them
what we're feeling inside.
Author Bio:
Ted Millar teaches English at Mahopac High School and poetry at Marist College. His poems have appeared in Third Wednesday, tiny poetry: Macropoetics; Scintilla; GFT Press; Inklette; The Grief Diaries; Cactus Heart; Aji; Wordpool Press; The Artistic Muse; Chronogram; Brickplight; and Inkwell. In addition to writing poetry, he is also a frequent contributor to Liberal Nation Rising. He lives in the heart of apple and wine country in New York's Hudson Valley with his wife and two children.
grew up in Tehran,
says my assessments
of things are spot on.
My other friends
from right here at home
prefer not to listen
if I observe something wrong.
The Iranian friend
remembers the Shah,
the revolution, hostages,
the Ayatollah.
My other friends lack
the same reference frame.
To them life is nothing
but a long, boring game.
They don't stop to think
about the chill in the air.
What bothers me most
is they don't really care
when all signs are pointing
as blatant as snow
to authoritarianism
beginning to grow.
They'd rather believe
democracy's shell
is impermeable
when it all goes to hell,
despite what we teach
our children in class
about its fragility
in societies past.
“We're better,” they boast.
“We'll never succumb
to anything like that.
Those lessons are from
history. We've learned
all their themes.
Don't worry. There's nothing
implying nafarious schemes
could in any way
disrupt our streak.”
That's how they respond
everytime I speak.
Iranian friend knows
otherwise. She's also in tuned
to the climate, the con,
how our elections are ruined
by unlimited money
suffucing the system.
She knows when she talks
I'm willing to listen
to her stories of warning.
I'm not so naïve
to assume we're immune,
nor for once to believe
she is lying.
I take to heart
what sages and prophets
for millenia have taught:
simple things are usually
the first ones to go.
After a while
we wouldn't even know
they're gone. Then another
freedom we once enjoyed
we're forced to surrender
to bureaucracy's void.
A third, a fourth, a fifth,
sixth, seventh, twelfth.
Eventually nothing is left
we can rely on for help.
Family and friends become moles
to protect their own hides.
We dare not reveal to them
what we're feeling inside.
Author Bio:
Ted Millar teaches English at Mahopac High School and poetry at Marist College. His poems have appeared in Third Wednesday, tiny poetry: Macropoetics; Scintilla; GFT Press; Inklette; The Grief Diaries; Cactus Heart; Aji; Wordpool Press; The Artistic Muse; Chronogram; Brickplight; and Inkwell. In addition to writing poetry, he is also a frequent contributor to Liberal Nation Rising. He lives in the heart of apple and wine country in New York's Hudson Valley with his wife and two children.
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