Coma of Denial

I look onto the Ontario ocean where

                               a rising cloud of

icy mist plumes upward

              in a scene bordered by

hoar-frosted oaks, maples and willows...

only the bubbles keep the ice from

                     blocking the ancient

ferry's path

the natural fog morphs

     into a planetary cloud of sinister

                   infectious microbes

of cynicism, nihilism and despair

                across urban landscapes

there are no research grants to investigate

                 its poison

there are no deep thinkers probing its

                 sources

there are no corporations admitting its

                  ubiquity

while a storm of protest erupts like a

            volcanic cell

whenever a political or moral cross-check

     as another victim falls

                          into the boards

the bio-viruses send microbiologists

                scurrying for new serums 

the planet protectors are in headline battle with

             the pipeline proponents

the secret-carry demagogues push for

       the right of everyone to be

locked and loaded for

               "self-defence"

in the topsy-turvey and venomous illogic

                     that only a "good-guy-with-a-gun"

can ward against a 

                                      "bad-guy-with-a-gun"

the message gurus twist their words

      their ethic and truth

to comply with their clients’ most base

                 and narcissistic demands

the opioid producers mislead

 about the

      side-effects of their radioactive

                                   profit motive

and crying from the car radio

          in a desperate posthumous

scream from beyond, Gord Downie pleads,

"Love not money is how we got good"….

sitting at the corner of Ontario

      and The Tragically Hip Way

I ask, "Is the prevailing fog anesthetizing

us

into a coma of denial?"