by Joanne Durham
I don’t have a personal story
to pull at your heartstrings. Never
bled sterile from a coat hanger. Never
carried a child inside my body
I don’t have a personal story
to pull at your heartstrings. Never
bled sterile from a coat hanger. Never
carried a child inside my body
minus a mouth or a windpipe, knowing
they would die within days strangled
on their own breath. Was young and naive
but never paid the price. In America, we elect
you for your adorable puppy and three smiling
children, spaced apart like their perfectly
braced teeth. Then you abort
compassion -- your heartstrings broken.
Our shared story is watching five deemed
Supreme smirk us back to the Dark Ages.
3 comments:
Thanks for this poem, Joanne. You focus on the situation with more real style than those judges could ever muster.
Friends here downunder are dumbstruck by our 'guiding light' America - generationally back to rock and roll that now seems only to rock - incandessantly. Your poem should read into their blind eyes.
this poem struck me like a fist - you have wasted no words in this damning indictment of your 'Supreme' Court's actions. The final couplet hit the hardest of all. Excellent poetry.
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