She thought she’d had enough of Hitler,
But this world doesn’t know herself very well.
She was tired and hurt and hungry,
But after some rest, she’d be ready for more.
She never loved the tyranny and the violence,
But she has always loathed having to do anything about it.
She cringes at “Nip it in the bud”.
She looks away at the mention that
“Eternal vigilance is the price of liberty”.
She has a reality problem.
She would rather pretend that
This time, It’ll be all right.
That this time, it won’t end as it always ends—
In destruction and chaos and loss
And poverty and shame and emptiness
And in much injury and untimely death
And in regret.
And so she pretends that
No one would be so evil
As to do it again—
And that this isn’t really
What it looks like—
Even as she watches
The storm clouds gather.
Though she is sluggish,
She will indeed be roused once again
To do that mighty work of throwing off
What she could have stopped already
At much less cost.
But she is stupid, and expects
No better of herself.
She rarely learns her lessons.
And even so, there is in the vast ocean of possibility
A fleeting glimmer of hope that
Just this once, she might operate on principle–
That she might happen to look ahead
And see the handwriting on the wall
And take action while there’s
Still some thrift in it—
Before so much is lost.
It is not, after all,
Impossible
That she could.
And even if the neighbors won’t do it,
Couldn’t we sweep our own house clean?
Yes, we could.
But now is not the time for that,
America says.
Now,
She insists,
Is the time for waiting
And seeing.
And so we wait.
And so we shall see.
