Shadow Of Dissent Poem by Fred Rik Kesner

A stray raggamuffin breeze skitters through the yard,
catching on the rags left drying on the line—
each one a small refusal, a frayed rebuttal
to the tidy doctrines the elders once stitched.

A pair of gams angles past the gate,
carefree, unmeasured, unblessed by any ledger.
Someone laughs into a muffle,
a sound half‑muffed, half‑winged,
as if the world were loosening its collar.

A muffin sits cooling on the sill,
its fin of steam rising like a shrug—
neither symbol nor lesson,
just warmth drifting into the late afternoon
like cotton candy dissolving on a tongue
that refuses to confess anything but the moment.

And the yard—
unruled, unindexed—
keeps offering these small, stubborn gestures,
each one a pivot away from the old script,
each one a way of being here
without bowing to the frame.





.