ABC ABC – ABAB – AA
Hold your fire, gal, stop – hold your fire;
he didn’t mean to shoot that look, the Look,
an arrow dipped in mother’s milk of scorn
that cleans your arteries of all desire
to share your thoughts: that peaceful, holy book
once more the seed of strife, while being born
with equal claims, unequal means, leaves you
unable to respond, uncalled for test,
and so the arrow pierces there where two
meet daily, eye to eye and breast to breast –
try hard girl, stop, try hard to turn the page,
another chapter, rephrase, reengage.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.