As We Watch

w.i.p....

As We Watch

God is love is a sucker’s game, y‘ask me:
maybe a hundred years ago, but now,
a boy’s bones twist beneath his scrap-pile tee,
to lick dead air for a missing nipple: how

dare God? How, we? These children-mothers, raped
of their own mothers, stretching the family pot
toward a fickle ladle, eyes as darkly draped
as their eldest elders’, birthing on this spot
 
the curse of innocents: the withering
of love between the generations; no
hope to spur hope; only the gathering
of motive upon motive, foe upon cruel foe

for the final donnybrook, where they will carve
the meat of us; share what it is to starve.


MB
8/11/25