And Those Who Survived Will Remember

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I started off scared, and I’m still scared. My husband is a physician. My sister is a nurse. I’m scared for their health and safety as well as that of other family and friends. I’m scared for my children as we continue to social distance and stay home. I’m scared for everyone dealing with the coronavirus and COVID-19.





But I’m also angry, angrier than I’ve been in a long time. I’m angry about the sheer ineptitude of and lack of guidance and support from our federal government. There are good people trying to do good work, and it seems almost daily, a higher-up has to step in and thwart that good work with their lies and ego.





Anyway.





I’ve been using our exercise bike, playing loads of Animal Crossing: New Horizons, sitting on our back deck when the weather is nice, and making homemade masks to cope with my anger. This morning, though, I awoke with a poem lodged squarely in my brain. An angry poem that I had to write down. Because it’s just one more way I can appropriately cope with gestures at the world.





Did I say it was an angry poem? You’ve been warned.





Also, Content Warnings for mentions of death, illness, and rapists. I do not mince words.





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And Those Who Survived Will Remember





Copyright (c) by Amanda Cook, 2020









The despot king—





Who did not gain his throne





By right,





But through blustering from his podium





With his serpent’s tongue





Coiling venom into





The hearts of the desperate and oblivious,





His cries of “Her emails!”





And “The caravans are coming, full of rapists





And murderers!”





And “I will make the kingdom great again!”





Echoing across the land—





This despot king





Smiled from his podium throne





As his loyal trolls,





In their stockpiled arsenals and basement lairs,





And his faithful heralds—





Those greedy to have his ear—





Scattered his vitriol across the land,





Shouting down those





Who would rebel against their hatred,





Those with the fewest rights





The fewest





Freedoms.





His trolls and his heralds,





With the despot king’s





indulgent protection,





Shouted, “You should shut up and





Let the king do his job.”





They spread the despot king’s pronouncements





Throughout the land,





That whosoever denounced the despot king





Deserved to be jailed





Or worse.





Their freedoms lost.





Their life,





Liberty,





And pursuit of happiness





Stolen,





For thinking such ill will





Toward their “Great Leader.”





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And lo,





It came to pass





That a plague fell upon the land,





A silent plague





That snaked through the kingdom.





An invisible dragon,





Slipping its smoky breath





Around throats





And into lungs,





Leaving the despot king’s people





Gasping





For air.





For life.





For justice.





The kingdom’s bravest healers





And knights





Rushed into battle





With too few weapons between them





To vanquish the mysterious,





Unforeseen threat.





And the kingdom’s mayors





And truth tellers





Rushed to the despot king for guidance





As his sycophantic advisers





Stood behind him





With their grim smiles.





And the people pleaded to him,





“Do something!





Anything!”





To stop the spread of the plague.





And, at first,





The despot king did





Nothing.





“It’s a hoax, perpetrated by those who despise me.”





And then,





When he could not ignore





The insidiousness





Of the plague:





“It will be over in a month.”





And then,





When he could not ignore





The rising infection rate and





Death toll,





The mayors and the truth tellers confronted him





Again





And





Again.





They asked the most trusted





Of the kingdom’s healers





His thoughts on





An unproven miracle cure,





Touted by the despot king himself.





The despot king leapt to his





Podium of lies once more





Before the healer





Could speak.





“He already answered that question, didn’t he?





Like fifteen times.”





And the most trusted of healers in the land





Was made silent.





And the mayors and truth tellers





Were bullied





And mocked by the despot king.





And the plague ravaged on





Until a suitable treatment was discovered.





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When the healers





And knights had finished





Sacrificing their lives—





Those who survived





Left battle scarred





And weeping—





And the grave diggers





Had dug the last of





The trenches into which





The bodies





Of the fallen





Were dumped





With no burial rites to speak of





And the people were left numb and shaking,





Starving from malnutrition





And grief





And the lack of empathy they so deserved,





The despot king,





From his palm tree lined palace





With his sycophants stood around him,





Looked down upon his





Ruin of a kingdom





And grinned to himself





And said,





“What a terrific job I did.





No one could have done a better job than





Me.”





#





Thanks for reading.





A. Cook

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Published on April 07, 2020 12:46
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