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I MADE IT THROUGH ANOTHER DAY

PAT MYSELF ON THE BACK

BUT I CARRY THIS WITH ME STILL:

THE SIGHT OF THE BLOOD IN THE DRAWER OF EVERY RETAIL

WORKER’S TILL



BUT I’VE READ THE BRUISED, BEATEN FACES OF A BURMESE FRIEND,

GANG-RAPED WITH THE CONTENTS OF HER UTERUS BARED.

IT’S NOT A PHOTO LAYOUT THAT I’VE EVER SEEN,

WRAPPED IN THE PAGES OF OF A PEPSI-COLA PROMOTIONAL MAGAZINE



SOME DAYS I CAN DO IT

WALK INTO ANY STORE

AND HAND MY MONEY TO A PEER

IN SOME DEMEANING UNIFORM



IT’S THOSE OMINOUS THREE WORDS THAT STARE BACK AT ME FROM

THE BOTTOM OF A GLASS

AND TAGS THAT TAUNT ME FROM THE BACK OF EVERY PIECE OF

CLOTHING I HAVE

AND THIS SOLDIER WIPING BLOOD FROM HIS SHIRT IN THE BURMESE

SUN LAUGHS

BECAUSE THE COINS THAT I ABANDONED

THEY ARE WEIGHING DOWN THE PANT POCKET

THAT THIS ECONOMIC PARTNERSHIP HAS BROUGHT



I MADE IT THROUGH ANOTHER DAY

PAT MYSELF ON THE BACK

BUT I CARRY THIS WITH ME STILL:

THE SIGHT OF A BLOOD SOAKED BURMESE SOLDIER

AND THE FULL MALL PARKING LOT THAT’S FUNDING HIM.


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