New Poem.

A roll is being called
in the streets and the 
halls of power.

The politician sniffs at it
and proclaims
that “some people cannot cope
with the enforcement of the law.”

She sees coping mechanisms
in her untroubled sleep:

there is unquestioning obedience;
there’s bow and scrape;
there is a knowledge of one’s place;

and of course when all fails
there are bullets — smaller
than close attention,

less complicated
than listening, more direct

than ideas, smoother 
in the moment
than her words.

She steps away from the podium
into blood seeping up
through the excellent carpet
that was selected because of how well
it once hid all those stains
she seems to believe
dried up long ago.
Tries not to slip in it.
Fails.  Blames this
on the distracting sounds
of the roll being called.
Fails again. Nearly falls.
Keeps trying, trying,

to cope.


About Tony Brown

A poet with a history in slam, lots of publications; my personal poetry and a little bit of daily life and opinions. Read the page called "About..." for the details. View all posts by Tony Brown

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