Random Cogs

Issue 12

People who run machines are often cut up inside them but continue regardless of their suffering
stuck in the random cogs while in a half-daze.
Celebrations denigrate those who grieve, their lives dismantled by those who laugh.
Speculation breaks the weak and rebuilds the dreams of the poor
to break free of the gears.
Those who prophesize starvation bleed anger and carry shovels,
‘Bury the laborers,’ their call to arms.
Everything must crumble to dirt before it can be reclaimed and made new.
Yank the teeth from the mouth of the machine,
wreak havoc and sing of a future where suffering serves a purpose.
Don’t shrink away,
instead, strive to escape, break the mold,
crank wheels backward, make them scream.
Expand your love until you cry; argue that your death will be righteous,
then, plan for the future without machines that cut up the people who run them.
Work to build that future regardless of your suffering.
Knock your socks off,
confident your cogs are run with good intentions.

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Mona Mehas writes poetry and prose from the perspective of a retired disabled teacher in Indiana USA. Her work has appeared in over 70 journals, anthologies, and online museums. Mona’s poetry chapbooks, Questions I Didn’t Know I’d Asked and Hand-Me-Downs available from LJMcD Communications and Amazon. She is querying her first novel.

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