It has always been
the age – hasn’t it,
when children are raped
and pay for it
with a nod to sorrow.
The guzzlers then move on
with laws that punish
vessels.
You would think perhaps
in the world of new,
whether York or Orleans,
we could see our way
through the rage that
strikes at the vulnerable.
But that will never do
for the venerable ones,
who are the same wherever
you wander to,
sitting on thrones
constructed with glue
that shatter from
the weight of unknown
guilt since
guilt is a ruse for
the poor alone.
The word feminist
still creeps people out,
worse than the word
rapist (unless he is black)
and when the language
is criminalized the
voter’s face has stubble
and reeks of lily white.
The lily smells of perfume
when first she sees the light,
but the stain upon your clothes
will never wear off.
Anne's mediocre poetry 