In the Queue
carrying on / chained by circumstance /
angel exploitation / call your corners
and recite your rotes / there’s no
nourishment here
crazed hummingbirds / what’s the buzz? /
air rushing from another world ringing
in the near-dead’s ears / enough to
make you color it all quits / enough to
unplug accordingly / paint peels
and chemical exposure / there’s hardly
a face left to pin anything on
and Mary’s waterlogged / dragged to
doom by an acolyte of medicine / a saved
one leaning on destruction like a crutch /
her body is an alias / a stand-in / mannequin
murders leave no evidence
in the hall where the patients are stacked up /
breathing room is a luxury / morgue filed
innocents spin for their turns
the doves were released at Mary’s funeral /
they hung around the old oaks because they
couldn’t leave her either / a cheesy made for TV
tune squeaked from speakers / everyone’s too tired
to sing along / exhausted were the grave-
diggers / fatigue procession
Mary can’t call the doctor anymore /
Mary’s fingers are frozen in
the waiting line
Photo by Tamilazhagan on Unsplash
I feel so terribly sorry for this Mary.
But the writer of this is truly amazing. “She” makes me feel.
Lovely. Thanks so much for posting. Keep up the great work this poetry writing month. Amazing.
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Thanks, Selma. Mary is anyone who’s ever waited forever. 💜💜
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This was a touching and powerful poem! I loved the wild, disjunct idiom! And somehow I was reminded of Emily Dickinson’s poetry!
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glad you enjoyed
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