Francie Lynch Poems
|1162.||How I Measure Time||4/22/2015|
|1164.||Elegy For Dead Poets||9/26/2015|
|1166.||Active Vs. Passive||1/18/2015|
|1167.||The Lads Are Streaming Porn||1/18/2015|
|1168.||The Flight Ahead Of Me||4/1/2015|
|1169.||My Poem Is My True Selfie||6/10/2014|
|1170.||Not All Fathers Are Dads||6/2/2016|
|1172.||Were There Five?||1/31/2014|
|1173.||Mary Jane Died Last Night||5/20/2015|
|1174.||A Child Is Born||12/18/2015|
Comments about Francie Lynch
A Child Is Born
I don't know destitute.
I could use the bathrooms
If I eat there.
I'm no refugee.
Neither are you.
We have computers, not canvas.
I warmed up the coffee today
And the dishwasher needs to go through
For the third time this week.
Homeless: We have them.
Poor: We'll always have them.
Hungry: Look to the soup kitchens.
Sick: The gurneys are lined in the halls.
Death: It's all around, and increasing.
And still, in that tent or Uber taxi
A child is born to change all this.
That field stone bridge, as bridges do,
Waits over brown waters, joing roads where
Legions marching, marched on and on.
Her waters breached the ocean, bringing back
Bottles, birds and songs.
In the morning between the columns,
The water breaks from sloping bends,
But under the evening light, when the house