Social issues are like

Bug splatters on your windshield


You don’t care that a life was snuffed

All you care is that

There’s a little smudge in the corner of your

8ft square crystal clear glass

Through which you view the world


You hit the wipers

Try to eliminate it because

Why wouldn’t you?


Why wouldn’t you try to forget the thing

That is disgusting to you?

Why wouldn’t you erase it from your mind?


The splatter was there once,

a homeless man on a corner

that you happened to walk right past without a glance

and then, it was gone

because you walked into a coffee shop a block over

and met your friend to enjoy a hot beverage and chat,

catching up maybe?

What did you talk about?

Where you’re going in life?

How college is going?

Your family?

Their family?

So many topics that your walk over seems miles away,

it didn’t even hold on for enough seconds in your mind to imprint into your

short-term memory.

And the splatter is wiped clean.


Sometimes the splatter smears though,

sometimes it spreads across your field of vision

until you can’t look past it.

It’s right in your field of view.


It’s your sister, who’s pregnant, and has to give up her child

because she doesn’t make enough wages to even support herself.

No access to birth control, no access to abortion,

but the state believes that A Life is a Group of Cells.


It’s your grandmother who died before you were even born

because she couldn’t obtain health insurance

to support her cancer treatments

and now the only memory of her that lives

resides in the brain of your mother

who cries for hours

on the anniversary of her death

and refuses to see anyone

until the next day.


It’s the boy that rummages through trashcans a block down from where you live

that grows up hating his country

because it left him parentless, penniless,

and caring for his younger siblings.

Living a hard life struggling to get by

because people voted “NO” to government subsidies for his type

They Said “People Should Work For Their Money”

They Said “No One Gets Good On Handouts”

And now he Hates.

And that hate stirred in his chest until he found an outlet

An outlet that plugged straight into the barrel of an Automatic Assault Rifle

that he walked into a mall with

on Christmas.


These smears streak and stain.

They remain,

and not even fifty wiper passes

will eliminate them


If you ignore them

until fifty thousand bugs fly and splatter into your window

they build up.

And then you crash.