Speechless

A poem about the difference between being left speechless and staying silent

I watch the news and I am speechless.
No that isn’t true.
Words pass through my chewed lips:
Why? 
Again?
What is happening to the world?

I see a post 
and pretend I don’t.

Someone I love, tail high
down the rabbit hole
chasing a promise
that an other is to blame.

I don’t comment.
I did once.
A pack smelled blood and attacked.

Now I try to find my own burrow to hide
from the fake news and artificial intelligence
the noisy slide into authoritarianism  
the silent crash into genocide
the social media that isn’t very social.

The real estate sites have soothing videos:
boat-access-only houses
long piers and funiculars
trees the only neighbours.
Quiet, empty houses.

But they advertise super-fast wireless internet
alongside the serene and secluded outlook
as if these things are compatible.

The news 
and posts 
and problems 
would hitch a ride on the ferry.

They’d clutter the house in no time.
The walls would reverberate with
my silence.

Which is not the same as being speechless.

Silence leaves behind an inescapable
echo of shame.

Photo by halle tansley on Unsplash