By Amanda Thomas
sometimes I wish I could unsee
the terrible crimes on our tvs
unread the painful stories, peel
each agony from my skin
like so many
newspaper sheets, switch
the station at on-the-hours,
slip on my rose-tinted glasses.
how exhausting
it is to be
a bleeding heart to care
so much. when we can’t change
anything,
we can’t even stop the next suicide
on Manus Island
