A charming abuser draws ever near,
Invades our homes, workplaces and schools.
We plead. We beg. We offer rewards.
Leave us unharmed.
The abuser tells stories
To our family and friends
Of our perfidy and foolishness,
Pealing away all self-defense
And defense by those who should care.
The abuser threatens
Each breath we take,
Taking our bodies as his own
And filling hospital beds
with our battered bodies.
The law steps back to allow
His plunder, his blunder, his smirks.
Oh how it hurts
This worsening abuse,
Forming a union of abusers
Under banners of ant-vax, anti-mask,
Patriots, Republicans, conservatives
Powered by money and influence
And cowardice.
annarino writes 
Morning Walk
I walk along the paths intersecting the nearby ponds; their waters green and brown and cold. The trees are bare now, enabling an appreciation of the variety show put on by the dancing branches.
Tiny birds hide in plain sight like pibe cones strung along bare branches. Their quiet chirps give them away. I stop to be certain if what I see. I delight in their creativity.
A black squirrel, his mouth stuffed with a ball of dead grass clippings and leaves, scampers across my path and scurries to the top of the pine tree to my right. Temperatures plunged last night, and his nest is in need of more insulation. He lacks my gas furnace to warm his home.
Two Mallard pairs swim with pond’s wind-whipped current. The brightly colored males bright against the grey sky and brown water. Their brown and grey-striped wives seem tiny and complacent by their sides. Some things are the same in every society; even within the duck society.
The Canadian geese are absent from the ponds today. They have taken up residence in the intersection of nearby streets, reducing traffic to a crawl with their unconcern for moving vehicles and sounding horns. The water is warmer in the shallow puddles and they are thirsty. They are breakfasting on the berries and blown to the ground by yesterday’s heavy rains, and on the bugs burrowed beneath the leaves left lying in the gutter to decay.
Quiet has descended here as a blanket to our cold thoughts. Cooled by the icy winds drifting south across the continent. Creating discontent in the grey dawn. I walk on.
There are no others on the paths today, not even a single dog walker. I linger in the cold, alone and watching for signs of life other than my own. It is here among my sister earth and brother clouds. All is well. Time to go home.
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