January 24th, 2017
On a folding, plastic table
topped with AstroTurf
lies a young woman bound
by cords of licorice rope.
Her mouth is overflowing
with balls of bunched-up twenties
while a spotlight shines upon
her slightly swollen belly.
Seven men stand around her;
seventh sons of seventh sons,
clenched fists of pen and paper,
a moral fire in their eyes.
They talk among themselves;
Oh! They do debate and chatter.
Placing phone calls at odd hours;
yes, they tell it like it is.