Womp womp, by Donna J. Snyder

I am not a silent poet

to Corey Lewandowski[1]

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1. Schadenfreüde
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The little toe on the right foot is swollen. Thick with heat. Heavy. A dropped glass broke it last night, the second toe I’ve broken since mid-January. That one, unsplinted, has a new angle, like a road sign for a right turn ahead. That toe forks sideways from all the others that make little leftward-leaning stair steps from the big one down to the little one I broke last night.
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I may have one toe that has never been broken. A few more have only been broken once. Others have been cracked, fractured, or deformed multiple times. You can laugh if you want. People do that, laugh at others’ pain, misfortune, and folly. Womp womp.
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2.The callous few

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Womp womp to my hot little toe on a bruised and battered foot.

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Womp womp to a destitute child…

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