I have an issue.
I have an issue with picking up my phone and only seeing the end of several animal species.
I have an issue with the persistent sound of trees being sawed in two.
I have a small, little, itty-bitty, molecular issue, with men creating songs with melodies of pretenses; that dance to the beat of their wives heads hitting the wall.
I have an issue with the impotency of steady intimacy that deserving women never see the light of, and the dark images that slide in and out of focus with each encounter.
I have an issue with children’s stomachs screaming at them to eat scraps off the side of a road that carries the same diseases as barn animals and sewer rats.
I have an issue with all of this being brushed off shoulders, the turn of yet another cheek.
I have an issue with who we became.
I have an issue with who we are.
Copyright © Annabelle Dillon | Year Posted 2021
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem.
to post a comment