Rebecca K. Reynolds

Honest Company for the Journey

My Biggest Fear

My biggest fear isn't poverty, 
though I wouldn't care for it much.
It isn't being alone,
or having a gun held to my head,
or socialists,
or Monsanto, 
or nuclear bombs.

It's some hipster guy in Nashville with a divinity degree;
he's disillusioned and 40 lbs overweight.
He talks out his nose because he's
bored with diSpENSATIONALISTS,
bored with the rapture,
bored with Kirk Cameron,
bored with America,
bored with inerrancy, 
bored with elections;
He's too smart for all that.

He knows better
so he posts about new restaurants on the strip,
and science fiction,  
and graphic novels
while sincere, simple folk 
take all the risks, doing battle
with their worn out, rusty garden tools.

Because it is risky, you know,
all this information,
all this chaos;
everything feels like a trap.
Being wrong will get you tweeted,
or mocked at some bowling alley --
40 lash-ed and disrespected, 
exposed for the quixotic,
sentimental fool you are, 
always watching at the sky,
waiting on the second coming.

It's the poor boys from poor families who make soldiers,
always been that way.
The kids who got nothing else have to join the army,
have to get out there on the fronts,
get all bloody and dirty,
get all messed up in a messed up war on behalf of the innocent
while that hipster guy in Nashville is drinking a $5 coffee,
thinking thoughts you wouldn't understand about pacifism, 
and theology
when he's not checking out the bargain t-shirts

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Art: "The Café" by Ernst Ludwig Kirchner (1904)