We’ve grown used
to happily-ever-afters
rising from a crescendo
mere moments
before the credit
scroll
that it’s become cliche
to believe
that victories
always arrive on cue
just near the end
like some Cracker Jack
prize.
Redemption stories
we know too well,
Rocky running up
those frozen steps in Philly
arms raised triumphantly
over his head
with no one there
to see…
except, of course, a paid
audience sitting
expectantly
in the dark.
Or the big reveal
when the heroine’s mask
slips to the floor
greeted in equal parts
with cheers or boos,
one more “pinhead”
or “patriot”
left playing their game
judged accordingly
by zip code,
religious affiliation
or the political party
you choose.
And maybe it’s true
that we only live vicariously
on what’s served up
each day
for our daily consumption,
the one square meal
slopped on our collective TV tray
for sensibilities long dulled
and no longer able
to discern
what’s false
from the real.
But beyond the klieg light
glare and thundering
applause
is a life lived like any other
where joy and pain
seem to come together
in equal measure
dependent on fate
or circumstance
and one’s perspective,
the homeless man
carrying plastic bags stuffed
full with someone else’s
discarded lunch
and thinking himself lucky
if only in the moment.
For, you see, every winner
begets a loser
just as all beggars
can’t be choosers,
and that’s just how
these dichotomies
will forever be arranged.
But did you ever stop
to consider
what this world
might achieve
if we could each
learn to see reality
in a non-binary
sort of way?