The trails are as cracked
as chapped skin
and in my yard
the bird bath keeps running dry
while 3,000 miles away
California burns, again
and the dog won’t stop
chewing his tail
I’m consumed with worry
fixated on making it better
paying my taxes
as the jobs tumble away
swirling down drains
disappearing into couch cushions
we are, all of us
bereft
while they play house
on their shiny boats
with their shiny fish
they bought with stolen promises
built on skin, shiny and white
and flowing hair
shiny and clean
but their hands are dirty