By Pam Grossman
Editor’s Note: Here’s another in the series, this one’s not an essay but it’s still a reaction. Send yours to email@example.com
You cut your wrists and ooze Coca-cola
You scrub your mouths TV-clean with Ivory soap
Your bibles are filled with dollar bills and candy bars
You snack on our safety
You measure our morality in increments of your dick size
You protect the lives of my unborn fetuses and send me
Into a sick world with no medicine,
A poisoncloud with no gasmask,
A chaos sea with no liferaft,
A bloodroom with no heart.
Oh monsters, monsters all, with golden lancets
And hexing prayers
A jubilation of damnation
A declaration of better-than-ness.
My strong, lamenting brothers,
my fierce and aching sisters,
I, too, have a dream:
The ones who will topple head-first into Hades
Are those who stand on tiptoes to be closest to GodÃ¢â‚¬â„¢s face.
Pam Grossman is a little person who is too creative for her own good.