Saturday, February 2, 2019

day SEVEN HUNDRED and FORTY FOUR

The president believes in torture
He has never experienced it
Bombs fall on distant mountains
People die – but they are abstractions

They flee their homes seeking peace
And a future for their families

But they are not real and find the door
Is closed because their faces are brown

Preachers stand with him
Hands on his shoulders in prayer

He will not let them kill fetuses
Instead they will wait until birth

Then turn their backs so they
Don’t have to watch them die

--Tom Blessing

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