The Unfairness of the Game by Jennifer Lagier

I am not a silent poet

“There’s a group of guys in a back room somewhere that are making decisions.”
 – Sen. Claire McCasgill

Thirteen Republican white men

hide behind a locked door as they

craft a bill to control women’s bodies.

They operate in a vacuum of facts,

base legislation on lethal ignorance,

disproved urban legends:

 

If it’s a legitimate rape, the female body

has ways to try to shut that whole thing down.

 

Who needs abortion when victims of sexual assault

can just get “cleaned out” by a rape kit?

 

Women shouldn’t terminate pregnancies

resulting from rape because it’s what God intended.

 

Abortion is much more serious

than the rape of children by priests.

 

Abortion rights caused the Sandy Hook massacre.

 

Abortion is just like the Holocaust.

If babies had guns, they wouldn’t be aborted.

 

Rape is okay when the victim seems

“older than her chronological age.”

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No Reason to Laugh by Jennifer Lagier

I am not a silent poet

Just in time for an investigation

of collusion with Russia,

America’s idiot-in-chief

returns to home shores

from his big-boy overseas trip.

While a polarized committee

issues swaths of subpoenas,

he wants to return seized embassies.

Disrespected, demoted, dismissed

intel employees line up to vent.

Administrative surrogates offer

outrageous excuses

which their bloated orange leader

flatly denies.

Political uproar ensues.

Leaks multiply.

Whistleblowers face persecution.

The GOP spins irrefutable facts.

Presidential tweets spew,

contradict White House lawyers.

Evidence of illegal obstruction persists.

We’re in dark territory,

worse than Watergate.

Democracy teeters on the brink

of constitutional crisis.

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.pm. by Sonja Benskin Mesher

I am not a silent poet

she said she has heard #stories. thrice.

i think you find, madam, it is #reality.

report that they shouted coward.

do not mention  the word

murderer .

yet.

we heard it. all of us.

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Grenfell by Lisa Rossetti

I am not a silent poet

Those stairs’ll be the death of me,

Her mother pants as she hauls the pushchair

up the final steps to her daughter’s flat.

Why can’t they fix the bloody lifts? Get it sorted?

She shrugs. Nothing works round here, Mum. We keep telling ‘em.

Yeah, she sighs. They don’t listen. Well, I’ll see you tomorrow, ok?

She watches her mother slowly disappear,

Trudging up the gloomy stairwell.

She calls out after her, Lights not working again?

In her kitchen she tips cornflakes into his Batman bowl,

grabs some cat food from the fridge. The light flickers inside

on and off, on and off.  She kicks the fridge door shut.

Scooping up his cereal he shouts, Sing me the song, Mum!

He learnt a new one today at nursery – such a clever boy!

And handsome, they said to her. Sure to break a few hearts!

 

She pulls…

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