Red poppies

Red poppies pinned above left breast. Lost meaning: that old call of "Lest we forget."

The privileged's bet.

Bright points stand out, though made a jest, complicit now in mocking mess of past tests.

They spurn a debt.

Debate on elite stage the cause of wars, drowned by polite applause to old hate.

This they abet.

Red poppies here from memory wrest'd of pain and wars and so much death, so they repress.

(The perks of being un-oppressed!)

When unaffected they make guests of fascists, war cons, by behest of the "blessed," who know not yet

elite theatrics make no pause. Lost memories—they become the law and our fate.

How like the West.

Someday perhaps we will regret. But for now—that old law rings true:

How quickly we forget. How quickly we forget.


Some thoughts after the Bannon-Frum Munk Debate. The image of people lining up to watch a debate about fascism as an evening's entertainment while wearing poppies was quite arresting. Remembrance is a conscious act only for the privileged, who need not fear the object being recalled. The rest must live and relive—both the memories and the not-so-different present reality—without choice.