A Flock of Magpies

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It feels like murder, some days. Most days,
as we watch our youthful dreams 
of changing the world turn into
our worst nightmare.

Their magpie grins and their dead eyes,
ghoul-like, grin from the tv screen;
they are drunk on corrupt power,
on how much they get away with.
They need not be furtive; they are blatant.
Apparently there is no governmental body
any more who can stop them.

I believed, all these years,
in the land of the free and the home of the brave.
I believed North American rights and freedoms
were guaranteed; they could never be toppled.
I believed we all felt the same.

See how quickly fascism takes hold.
See how many rush to drink the Kool-Aid,
enraptured.

A flock of magpies, chattering,
create distraction upon distraction,
while behind the scenes,
they gut all of our protections
and services.

Magpies recognize themselves
in the mirror, but this lot doesn't.
I doubt they could look in the mirror
without wondering what they have become.

A murder of magpies, they call it.
What is being murdered is the Constitution
and who will save it? Integrity
has left the building. The other side of the aisle
is flapping their wings in distress.
But are they strong enough
to topple an empire, so suddenly erected
on domestic soil?

America breaks my heart some days. Most days.
I don't break down in public, (so far),
but my heart carries such an ache.
I worry what is yet to come,
each month worse than the one before,
each outrage more wicked,
until complete silence envelops me,
and I withdraw, resigned.
There is no one to save us, only ourselves,
marching to the voting booth,
voting as if our lives depend on it.
Because, quite literally, they do.

Inspired by "Magpies Recognize Themselves in the Mirror" by Kelli Russell Agodon, for Wild Writing with Laurie Wagner