Sunday Stew: A Cynic’s Song

by Kayla Blau

I’m asked what I’m hopeful for
What pushes me from the womb of my bed
What keeps me warm and tethered in the storm outside
I shrug in my apathy
my skeptic
my permanent side-eye to a world not yet healed
I scowl at the screeching of headlines and alt facts and every gullible headless brute
They’re blinking at me expectantly
I’m likely glaring at them accusatorially
Lately my way of hope is just a cynic’s song
A bitter remembrance
A necessary salve we spread
Before we can even dream of sleeping


Painting: Crazy World by Tina Law