Pandemic Poems - APRIL 2020
Susana H. Case
What is the value of life when governments murder, like drug pushers in alleys, war profiteers in plush chairs, the foul smell of clotted blood still on their fingertips. And why do we not throw bricks, when their lips speak of sacrifice, on days so unbearably sunny it hurts, of war against a new virus, as if they haven't tripped in their wars against everyone. Always, it's money that gathers at the river to help us choose our cemeteries. Here, the politician beckons, line up here to dig this rocky soil with your broken shovel. There, the finger points, line up there to collect your toe tag.
©2020 Susana H. Case
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