The Letter A

The alphabet flexes its muscle.
A stands for apologies and axes.
In a world at war, art is an apple
I cannot chew for clenching my jaw,
a fruit that never ripens, but it sits
on my tongue like a communion wafer
I am forbidden to spit out. True,
hymns draw no blood, break no bones,
but we cannot warble our way out of war,
and a writer's pen deflects no bullets.
Nouns and syllables as bandages
do not staunch bloody fear.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.

%d bloggers like this: