When Sparrows Fall
She’s on ‘skid row’
no place to go
estranged and forlorn.
In the shelter they just stare
no one dares to touch or deeply care.
He’s at home
but always alone.
No one calls on the phone.
His long days continue to grow
As deep within he moans.
Trans and nowhere to turn
with a buried inner yearn.
“Pretend it is not so.
Get into the proper gender row!”
Yet one’s demise is ever slow.
…When sparrows fall, heaven knows.
For ‘Art After Hours’
Copyright @2021 by Kenn
Storck
May be used with
permission.
No comments:
Post a Comment