The Crisis ...Middle East

The New Republic - News
The Crisis
Each must act for his or her own reasons. The windfalters at nightfall but there’s fury in dry leaves.Vehemence of a dream no one can rememberleaches into statistics. Flora will leave for France.Jill stays indoors and won’t answer texts or email.Henry oils a Glock. Duane calls Jesus. Father gulps a red pill.With a clipboard we halt passersby, but the enemyparrots our warning word for word—“our countryis disappearing, just a few days to save it, a handfulof corrupt rich men, a few who care enough to act”—“The crisis began when I was born,” “it will end tomorrow,”“I have no idea who I am,” “we’re racing into the past”—We locked down and made love on the bare mattress.Our freshly painted signs

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