Another day dawns, time again
to tiptoe through the minefield
of hashtags and trending offence.
So much to keep up with,
so many ways to get it wrong,
misgender, mispronounce,
microaggress, mansplain.
Let us all congregate
in the church of the righteous,
pass judgement on the blasphemous.
How exquisite it feels
to point fingers,
to soak in the warm bath
of pious superiority.
But when the crowds disperse,
placards lowered,
what are we left with
but the hollow roar of echo chambers,
the bitter taste of attitudes digested too quickly?
Perhaps being woke
also means pausing
to listen through the din,
bridging chasms carefully built.
It means lifting each other up
when we stumble,
not racing to trample the fallen.
The soapbox is easy to mount,
far harder to meet on common ground.
But that’s where the real work begins.
