The Islanders & The Syndicate

(A FABLE)

An island saved from the sea

for fertile farms, settlements

of merchants, artisans, and builders,

and a calm life of care and justice

was circled on the map of a developer.

Signs went up on every wall.

Broadcasts day and night, a carnival

of promises, gave minds no rest.

Pack up the past. Beckon the mainland

with the glow of a grand casino!

Town Council met during the season

to repair embankments, salt game and fish,

grease windmills, stock caches

for victims of winter storms,

and hear the barker for the syndicate.

He wore an orange hat, promised revenues;

when the Council asked how fishing,

terraced farms, dikes, and precious mills

would avoid mainlanders staggering off

after a drubbing, he played a flute.

Friend, we are an island, saved

often by the sea from wars.

Barkers pipe and gamble for our future,

careless of our problems and storm seasons.

They do hat-tricks, sing slogans,

beckon, promise, whisper to our greed,

defame their critics, ridicule the helpless.

Problems do not interest them; the struggle

with passions, wind, and sea;

the calm life of care, justice, and survival.

Yes, this is a didactic fable. It’s about all the coming elections. Only voters can turn around the ship of state. The fable argues that it’s better to vote for struggling problem-solvers who take on difficult tasks than it is to vote for speculators and ideologues who are more intent on being winners by any means necessary than in solving problems. The times are perilous. If you fail to vote, or vote for the Trump carnival of the GOP because you’re miffed about Democrats, you will have chosen showmen and greater peril than anyone imagines. It’s time to sweep the clowns from the stage and solve some problems.