Wheat Fields
There’s this old Arabic idiom
It’s just right for right now
“Then they trod in the wheat field.”
And it means someone’s screwed up,
Made a mess.
It’s nothing less than perfect for the state we’re in,
Where the chips are down
And sitting in the bargain bin.
As buffoons bumble through fields of what
Bustling busily past questions of “what to eat?”.
Special ministers get appointed to see us through,
With blitz spirit and pulling up of bootstraps,
With no idea of what the hell we’ll do.
We try to take them to task
And there’s a hue and a cry and a hullabaloo,
But we’re just asking the questions again and again,
With no answer but “Well, we’ll make do.”
So watch them tread in their wheat fields,
And dance around questions and answers.
Watch the puppetry in place of practicality,
Or economic certainty,
Because honestly, it’s exhausting,
And something’s ending.
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