Jennifer Weigel

Dis-Appointment

I wish I knew just how we got here but I had long ago lost hope.  I’d been seeing the political arena play out in everyday street encounters.  Those status-symbol oversized, overpriced gas-guzzling monstrocities of trucks sought to control both vehicular and ideological traffic by engaging in their own ticker tape parades, honking and screaming at whoever would listen, both willing ears and not.  They held their trump flags and banners at the ready to piggyback on any crowd gathering that might help to draw attention to their causes.  There was no escaping their fervor as they circled ‘round the block for another go.  Even now, their owners still boast the largest yard signs despite having some of the narrowest mindsets.  They claim it’s economic but then allow their fear of anyone outside of their rigid ideological boxes to define who gets to sit at their table.  Perhaps this is just life from the soap box where everybody wants to power-play the jackass, and the trump card is the deck favorite of the day.  But the din has become so overwhelming that I cannot hear myself think.  Is it just me, or does small-town America seem to be shrinking even further unto itself?  I already felt unsafe in my own skin, kept a low profile and my opinions to myself; this just sealed the deal.  We’ve all been stifled into suffocation, the trans-cendentals: the artists, dreamers, poets…  When will it be okay to come up for air?