I never thought I’d come back to a country–our nation–that shoots rubber bullets point blank at journalists and peaceful protesters.
A country tear gassing peaceful protesters–one painting on an easel, others playing music–so that the president can walk into a staged photo op, Bible held aloft.
A desecrated prop.
A military attack helicopter used against Iraqis, now over the heads of Americans.
American citizens below.
So close, limbs breaking from trees, windows of shops shattering.
No words of healing. No words of justice.
It’s all for him.
And the 104,000 dead?
The most vulnerable, oppressed among us?
Families, victims, the tortured?
The viral pandemic?
But it’s okay. We have our Waffle House and haircuts.