Slogans Poem by Mary Angela Douglas

sometimes I feel we are only speaking in slogans
and then I see the different coloured slogans
speaking to each other across the fences of the world

disarranging the lilacs and
looking a little folkloric, at least at the beginning

then leaving us out of the conversation entirely.
and the slogans have grown legs and arms and heads and hands
and are walking among us crisp in their new suits,

their dotted swiss dresses they are waving us on

while we start feeling slippery, losing our labels
so that our mothers don't recognize us
a dish of jello here, a pot of watery jam

a shadow, a creek bed dried
and the slogans have taken over, side by side and
linking arms

they are running everything
the slogans run the bank
the shoe store

the bar and grill
the gas station
the monoply board

the seventh ward
the silo and the grain
and there are slogans now for rain

for windy weather for the trains when they come on time
for snowfall and the picturesque antics of the children, codified
and they are always on tv! See.

and oh God I am tired of slogans.
I am so tired of slogans.

mary angela douglas 18 january 2017