The canary in the coalmine
of a culture lost at sea
is when the tides like tidings
shift the use of ‘we’ to ‘me’.
It’s the stake we stake to gain one
and the rope we loose to hold
and the winds we brace to chase
a bloody basin full of gold.
It’s when a Midas media
so turns our love to lust
and drains the seeking sailors
in the clutches of its rust.
When the bards are pinned by poems
and the sirens flop their speech
and the masses lose their glasses
when the snakes begin to preach.
When race divides the very land
imbedded in its claim
and everyone’s a sailor
on a whaler riding blame.
The canary in the coalmine
of a culture doomed to fail
is not all men are set to sink
if some so learn to sail.
-Amy Struthers
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