Poem for Patriarchy

Bitter, bloated bloodshot

eyes are the last thing

 

you will see looking down

at you.  Men chained to meat hooks,

 

darling dears just dangling

there.  Lepers surrounding each

 

blood crusty body quivering

with webs whispering

 

whistles of waterless poor

people. I walk in

 

with various sizes of canes.  Who

is the Daddy now, bitch?

For Wicked Stands

Justice is to not forget

what the State deems

 

forgettable.  Make the injustice

bow in cowardice.  Tell the money

 

men their ideas of value, of worth

mean nothing to anyone other

 

than them. We still have

voice. Rise to possess your narrative.