The curtain falls, applause begins,
Politicians puff their chests again.
Each claims a win, each points to blame,
But the crowd’s grown tired—it’s the same old game.
The lights stayed off, yet no coin was saved,
The furloughed return, their pay delayed.
The rich still dined, their pockets wide,
While workers prayed to just survive.
The pundits rage on screens of blue,
Shouting what they think is true.
Some say stars were born from code,
That AI breathed the cosmic road.
Meanwhile, the rest of us just sigh,
Watching truth and reason die.
We used to build, to mend, to care,
Now we argue into stale air.
The system stumbles, pride still fed,
While hungry mouths go underfed.
No one wins this scripted play—
We all lose a bit each day.
So let them claim their hollow crowns,
The rest of us will hold the ground.
For somewhere past the noise and spin,
There’s still a hope we might begin again.
© Susie Stiles-Wolf