Around the world are rings
Of plaque in a construct of insensitivity
That guillotines the nerves

Science shirks where politics shrugs
Footprints become graveholes
And life disease, where life is a disease
Where life puts its arms around you
And draws you in and...

I am talking to you
A bullet
Shatters the rifle
Of the speaker’s mouth
No longer barbs “to ask”
Only “cry” as in “cry out”

I am of the generation
Invented a newer oppression
A murderous murdered generation
With a nickname AIDS

©1989, Bob Holman

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Back to > Bob’s commentary, “Letter to a Young Poet”

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