Bare breasted and unashamed
to run the corners of this race against
A bearded man with dirt in his eyes stands,
leaning on a crude cardboard sign
because his lean arms are sixty-
six pounds heavier holding it high.
Yet my breasts bounce as I sprint the corner
with the words painted on my back
– proud red hair shaved to the scalp
to permit an easier read.
And to whom is your attention drawn? Or is your curiosity
too thoroughly distracted by mere debauchery
to waste a glance into the protests we both carry?
But wait, that child on the window ledge
above my finish line, would you notice the message
during her flight, or after the crack of skull?
Now the words are written in blood. Perhaps
that will attract more attention?
Don’t dare to let your guilt lie lightly tonight, your choice
to wield the pen, however unintentional,
has been made obvious by your inaction.
Will I see you under the moon, as I run my same route?
With the bustling crowds pushing past
toward advancement, purpose, self-destruction,
will they notice any red in your cheeks
as you graffiti the sidewalk where I run
bare breasted, he leans in beggar’s rags,
and the child’s blood pools?