Astonishment Poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar

Is astonishment to fake it.
The same as faking to be astonished.
These days it is difficult,
To know the difference.
Since few these days,
Should be astonished at all.
By anything slapped in their faces.
With it done to have this admitted.
The only mistake made,
Was to not have done it earlier.

Slowly evaporating,
Is common sense to use.
And consciousness to witness it.
Like dew lifted at dawn.
As the Sun appears to rise.
People seem to rush outside,
From where they reside.
With their minds to leave behind,
At the curb.
Before taking that morning drive.
To a place where they perform,
As robots until the Sun sets.

Who has yet not to notice,
The sound of a ticking clock.
Has more tock than tick then not.
With time they've got,
Going backward nonstop.
While those standing by permitting this.
And with their assistance persist,
They are shocked and astonished.
Yet...
Claim a need for building bridges.
Bridges they have burned.
To wish to sell.
But astonished that the concept,
Does not go over well.
Or accepted by those,
Still smelling of smoke.
And wiping stinging eyes.
Some coughing. Some choking,
As fumes smoldered...
From once were bridges.
Now told are being repaired to be sold.
Again.
With no mention of those bridges,
To need these days should be brand new.

How is it,
This request...
Finds anyone expressing astonishment.
Is as depressing,
As getting looks from those who stare...
At the ones walking around,
With smoked singed faces.
And clothes licked by fire.
Running off several burning bridges.
Bridges...
They are being approached to buy.